


Not So Safe Now

by notgonslave (wedontslave)



Category: Glee
Genre: Character Death, F/F, Horror, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Suspense, Violence, unholy trinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 103,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25707496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedontslave/pseuds/notgonslave
Summary: The Glee Club had hopes of a fun time away from home in a vacation at a secluded family house. That was dashed when they realised there was a serial killer in their midst.Now complete with proofreading and editing.This is a murder mystery. For the full experience don't skip to the end or read comments.
Relationships: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Comments: 99
Kudos: 53





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own glee, or its characters. I am only borrowing them for the purpose of this story.  
> I have rewritten the beginning of this story, as I read it back and it is pure cringe.

Santana could not quite believe that summer was nearly over.

It nearly felt too fast. One day she was celebrating the loss of nationals (ironically), then she was celebrating the end of school with a huge Cheerios party that Quinn decided to throw because her daddy wasn’t home and she no longer wanted to be such a daddy’s girl (that prude!), and then she was thrown into the summer holidays.

For the most part, Santana did not find the holidays that bad. Normally, it was just endless days of doing nothing, just making trips downstairs and towards the fridge, getting some food, making her way back upstairs and eating the food. It was just a habit that Santana had developed over time. When you’re bored, eat. Anyway, her father had been on many work trips, working night shifts, so she didn’t get to see him that much. Not that she minded. She understood that her father’s job as a doctor was very demanding, and he is trying to spend as much time with his family as possible. Not that she’ll ever admit it out loud, but she loved her dad. More than she let on, anyway. But if that ever found its way to Quinn’s ears, the short-haired blonde will never let her hear the end of it. All those daddy’s girl remarks Santana had made over the years will become meaningless. And that is unacceptable.

Anyway, fast forward a month or so, and Santana found herself perched up on top of her bed, filing her nails because she simply had nothing better to do. She didn’t go anywhere this summer, and Brittany had been away for the first three weeks to a holiday with her parents and her sister, so Santana was more than bored. However, things did look up for her when Brittany came back and she was able to spend a lot of time with her girlfriend. She probably saw Brittany more than her own mum since she came back, to be honest, and her mum was always in the house. Santana didn’t care: she loved Brittany more than anyone else in the world and would love to spend every second of every hour of every day with her, and she was more than excited to spend the rest of her life with the blonde that plagued her thoughts pleasantly whenever she wasn’t in the brunette’s presence.

The sound of Santana’s phone ringing brought Santana out of her reverie. She set down her nail file carelessly on the windowsill and picked up the phone, rolling her eyes when she saw that Puck was calling her. Now Santana wouldn’t say that she was good friends with Puck, to be honest that boy annoyed her more than anything, but she couldn’t deny that there were moments that he was funny and a cool guy in the glee club. That said, Santana tolerated him, and accepted the call.

“Hi,” Santana’s greeting was laconic, because she had no idea what Puck wanted. He was a bit of a perv, if Santana was going to be honest. She knew that Puck had expressed an interest in her before, but come on, who doesn’t? Okay, narcissism aside, Puck is disgusting most of the time, so she would never reciprocate his interest anyway. Brittany was the one, and Brittany was all she needed.

“Hey,” Puck drawled, and Santana could already see his sly grin. “Look, my parents are out for a few weeks, and I asked them if I could throw something with you guys, and they said yes!”

“Great, why are you telling me this?” Santana asked, slightly exasperated.

“There’s this really cool place that I know, like a family house, so I’m asking if you would be up for a vacation. Just chilling, before senior year starts and all our free time goes down the drain,” Puck said.

“Huh,” Santana said, because she was mildly interested. “Who else is coming?”

“I don’t know yet,” Puck said. “You’re the first person I asked. I’m thinking the Glee club? It’s been a while since we connected and I think that it will be nice.”

“Yeah, it might be,” Santana said contemplatively. “All right, I’ll think about it.”

“Great, that’s all that I need,” Santana could see Puck’s grin through the speaker. “Spread the word, would ya? It’s gonna be awesome!”

“Okay, sure,” Santana said. A moment passed in silence, and Santana deemed that the end of the conversation. “Well, bye.”

“Ciao!” was all Santana heard before she pressed the red button and ended the call. She sat there for a few seconds, just thinking. To be fair, a vacation sounded very appetising. She had a pretty eventless summer so far, so it might be nice to do something before the holidays ended. Plus, the glee club as company? As much as she hated to admit it, it was a lot better than the cheerleader and jock parties that she had been to in the past. There was too much booze, and too much risk of her and Brittany doing something in the public eye that should only be behind closed doors.

With the blonde that she loved now in mind, she tapped a few times on her the screen of her phone and brought up speed dial. The phone rang three times before she heard her favourite voice.

“Hey Sanny!” Brittany chirped. Santana’s lips couldn’t help but curve up into a grin.

“Hey Britt-Britt,” Santana replied.

“What’s going on?” Brittany enquired.

“Puck invited me to this vacation with him. Apparently, his family owns a holiday home that we could stay in.” Santana said.

“Oh, that sounds pretty awesome! Can I come with?” Brittany asked.

“Yeah, that was why I called actually. Do you mind inviting other people as well? Puck said that it would be more of a glee club thing than a messy high school party thing.” Santana explained.

“Okay, that sounds great!” Brittany replied. Santana spoke to Brittany for a few more minutes, or more like Brittany enthusiastically telling Santana all the fun things they could do while they were away before they finally hung up. With the smile still in place, Santana scrolled down to Quinn’s contact and dialled her.

***

Word spread like wildfire. Within the space of a few hours, everyone was informed and rather miraculously, was able to come. Well, with the exception of Lauren, who had some kind of wrestling summer camp that she was going to. After what happened by the lockers with Lauren, Santana didn’t doubt that for one second.

A while ago, Santana had received a text from Puck saying to meet at his house tomorrow at ten in the morning, and to pack clothes. He had said that he had the food covered, which was nice, because to be honest Santana had exhausted the fridge over the past few days, and she wasn’t really up for a shopping trip.

Since it was pretty obvious that Puck couldn’t take all thirteen of them in one car, it had been decided that they will go there in three cars. Santana offered to drive, as she was one of the few who had a license at that time, and Blaine also offered to drive. It was settled.

***

“Okay people,” Puck announced once Kurt and Blaine finally arrived. “I think that was the last of us to arrive. Let’s get going.” With that, Puck hoisted up a twelve-pack of coke and threw it into the trunk of his own car. He walked across the side of the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, followed by Finn who went into the passenger seat, and Sam went to the back seat shortly after, but not before helping Artie out of his wheelchair and into his seat.

Since Santana didn’t believe that she could stand a few hours of being in a confined space with a few select glee club members, she called dibs on who goes in her own car. Brittany was to be in the passenger seat, of course. Brittany wanted Mike to be in their car as well, so that they can talk their choreography things, which Santana didn’t understand, but also didn’t mind. She realised that Brittany and Mike had grown very close over the past couple of months, and while Santana should feel jealous or threatened of Mike, she didn’t because Mike had earned her trust long ago and looked at Brittany like a best friend, a sister. So, she was more than happy to say yes to Brittany’s request. And, since you can’t break up the Unholy Trinity, Quinn got to sit with Mike. That left Rachel, Mercedes, Kurt, Blaine, and Tina to the last car. The divas can do their own thing in their car, Santana reasoned. Santana didn’t want to begin to imagine what would transpire during their journey. Probably lots of karaoke and sing-offs. Yikes. She felt a little sorry for Tina.

As Puck’s car started to pull away from the driveway, Santana pressed her foot on the pedal, setting the car in motion and trailing behind Puck’s car. Shortly after she heard the hum of Blaine’s engine.

Brittany squealed in excitement. “This,” she grinned elatedly with a loud whisper, “is going to be awesome.” Santana looked to her side and smiled warmly at Brittany, before looking at the mirror at Quinn and Mike. Quinn was already drifting off to sleep, and Mike had a gentle half-smile on his face. After a few minutes of relative quiet, Santana decided to put on a little bit of hip-hop on the car stereo. Mike cheered and, along with Brittany, started to bob in their seats. This quickly escalated to some unconventional dancing in their seats under the restraint of their seatbelts. Santana laughed and turned her eyes back onto the road.

***

After a few hours of driving, which consisted of more of Brittany and Mike’s weird jiggling, a game of I Spy suggested by Brittany which Santana surprisingly found really fun due to some ridiculous I Spy rounds, and a quick snack of bacon treats requested by Quinn who woke up after an hour or so, Santana saw Puck’s car turn off the main road and into a much narrower road. Santana steered her car and followed.

“We’re nearly there,” she told Mike, who had told Santana a little less than half an hour ago that he really needed a piss. Mike weakly pumped a fist in celebration. She looked over at Brittany, who had fallen asleep after having burnt a lot of her energy during the car ride, and Quinn, who managed to sleep again, and decided that she would wake them up once they arrived. She glanced at the rear mirror and was pleased to see Blaine’s car right behind hers. Blaine fell a little too far behind a while ago so he got a little lost, meaning Puck and Santana had to stop for them to catch up. It only took them fifteen minutes, while Puck exasperatedly gave them directions. Santana could hear Rachel’s obnoxious singing through Puck’s speakerphone, and she wasn’t even in the same car as him.

About five minutes later, the thick trees seemed to part, and an enormous house loomed over them. Puck stopped at the front gate, briefly got out to unlock it, got back in, drove a little further and parked on the gravel. Santana followed suit, and gently shook Brittany by her shoulders. Brittany mumbled something in protest, before Santana leaned over the centre console and placed a short, chaste kiss on Brittany’s lips. Her cerulean blue eyes blinked open, and the grogginess dissipated within seconds. She gave a lazy smile, which Santana readily returned.

“We’re here.” Brittany instantly perked up at Santana’s words, turning around to face Quinn and Mike. Mike kind of had a desperate expression now, almost pleading. Quinn’s head was placed at an unnatural angle against the window. Her neck is going to hurt.

“Quinn!” Brittany called. No response. “Quinn!” Still no response.

Brittany reached out her hand and gave Quinn’s cheek a slap. Quinn jolted a little bit, before her murky hazel eyes cleared and she rolled her neck. She gave a small groan of discomfort. She then looked out of the window and saw the house.

“Whoa.” she rasped. “That looks pretty cool.” Santana grins, before giving an affirmative “Yep.”

Puck made his way out of the car, followed by the other guys, who all stretched their limbs a little bit due to having spent hours cramped in a car. Sam seemed to have forgotten the existence of Artie, for he suddenly turned back to the car and unfolded Artie’s wheelchair, then lifted the handicapped boy out of the car seat and into the wheelchair.

Santana unbuckled her seatbelt, walking out of the car as Kurt walked out of Blaine’s car. She noticed the faint green tint on Kurt’s cheeks. He probably was car sick or something. Bless him.

Puck sent her a toothy grin before he got out various bags of food and items from the car trunk, just as the others file out of their cars.

“Who’s ready to have lunch!” Puck called. Everyone cheered in assent. “Let’s get this party started!” With that, he walked towards the front door, opened it, let out a “Woo!”, before striding inside.

The glee club members looked at each other and started to make their way towards the front door as well, chatting exuberantly.

“I’m so excited, Santana.” Brittany’s animated voice captured Santana’s attention. Her eyes were electric blue. Santana simply gave her a smile. “No really, Santana. I’m so very excited.” Brittany reiterated.

“Okay,” was Santana’s simple response. Brittany beamed, skipping away to catch up with the rest of her friends.

“I still need a wee.” Mike appeared behind Santana, who simply laughed.

“We’ll find you a toilet.” Santana responded.

The front gate clanged shut behind them.


	2. Day 1

“How on earth do you even have this place, Puck!”

“Holy crap look at that chandelier!”

“Why did you not tell us you had this house? We could’ve used this place last year!”

“All right, people, calm down, calm down!” Puck shouted over all the ruckus and the gushing. “If you must know, this house has been Puckerman property since before I was born. Last year my parents decided to refurbish this place so we can rent it to people looking for a getaway for some extra dosh. The furnishing and decorating finished a few weeks ago, and my pa let me,” he pointed to himself, “let you guys”, he gestured to everyone before him, “be the first guys to enjoy the full Puckerman experience. My pa and my ma went on their own getaway, so why not have a getaway myself?” he finished with a shrug.

“That’s so cool bro.” Finn piped up.

Puck merely shrugged again as if to say “Duh!”, with a triumphant grin on his face.

“So, what food you wanna eat first? We have burgers, sausages,” his eyebrows wiggled a little bit, “frozen pizza…” he listed whilst counting his fingers, “the classic fish and chips. Oh, and we can eat some bacon –”

“BACON!” Quinn screamed. All heads turned towards her direction. Quinn’s face turned beet red at her slight overreaction at the mention of bacon, and she looked down to avert their gaze. She cleared her throat a little. “We could have some bacon.” she said in a composed manner, nodding her head once as if that reinforced her request.

“I was going to say bacon with bagel and baked beans, but just bacon works just fine.” Puck smirked, eliciting a laugh from many people, much to Quinn’s embarrassment. “Who wants to make the food!” Puck cried. Suddenly, everyone’s eager expressions fell. So did Puck’s, after a while. “No one? Well, since you guys are guests, I guess I will grace you with your first meal.” The smiles reappeared on everyone’s faces. “Don’t get used to it,” Puck hastily added with a small scowl. “Lunch be ready in fifteen. People choose your sleeping areas. Don’t choose the bed that already has my bag on it, it’s mine.” Everyone quickly scurried off towards the stairs, intent on getting the best beds. “There are less beds than people!” Puck shouted after them. He doubted that they heard him. Sam didn’t move at all, however.

“You good there Sam? You look a little, off.” Puck edged a little closer. Sam swivelled his head to look at Puck with a stiff, unreadable expression. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, before his expression suddenly softened.

“Yeah, I’m fine, all peachy.” With that, Sam trudged off towards the staircase. Puck frowned at the spot where his standing figure once was. Shrugging it off, he turned towards the stove and got out a pack of bacon from the bag. He opened the pack and started to heat up the pan before he heard a rustle. He paused. Nothing.

“Who’s there?” He called. Still no answer. He decided to ignore it, his mind was probably playing tricks on him anyway, so he turned back and started to oil the pan. A shadow caught the edge of his vision. He whipped his head in that direction and saw a mop of blonde hair.

“Quinn?” Upon Puck’s call, Quinn timidly came out.

“Can I have a slice?” her voice was kind of quiet. Puck’s raised eyebrow indicated Quinn’s need to elaborate. “Of bacon?” Quinn finished shyly.

Puck couldn’t help but laugh. Not any laugh. A full-blown laugh. What was Quinn’s deal with bacon?

“Tastes better when cooked, Q. Just gonna have to wait.” Puck responded. Quinn mouthed “okay” before trotting across the hallway and up the stairs.

***

“Dibs!” Brittany shouted before leaping on a bed on the far side of one of Puck’s many bedrooms. She bounced on it a little before Rachel’s loud voice came up.

“Shucks! I wanted that one – don’t do that, you’ll break the bed!” Rachel screamed, as Brittany started to jump on the bed, bouncing higher and higher until her head nearly hit the ceiling.

“Will be sooner or later,” Santana’s smooth voice spoke suggestively, brushing past Rachel. She placed her hands on Brittany’s waist and brought her back down onto the floor. It took Rachel a little longer than she should to get the meaning behind Santana’s words.

“I swear to god if you break this bed through the process of fornication I will –” Rachel faltered. “I will –”

“Yes Rachel, you will?” Santana enquired. Rachel sighed.

“I guess I can’t stay here then. My ears will die through hearing indecent sounds produced by the human throat, which should only be used to create harmonious melodies, and when I become deaf I will cease to be able to sing, have you ever heard of a deaf singer? How would that even work? How do you hear if you are on pitch? How –” Rachel never got to finish.

“Okay, great Rachel. You don’t need to lecture us with shit we don’t understand every fucking time.” the voice grew in volume with every word.

A few seconds passed in silence as Rachel’s mouth opened and closed perpetually. Santana’s lips formed an “o” shape.

“Brittany! Out of all people, I would not expect you to talk to me this way! Unacceptable!” with that Rachel stormed from the room. Santana looked at Brittany in mild shock.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before, Britt.” Santana remarked. “Wait actually I have, when I do that thing where my fingers touch either side of your –”

“Okay San, no need to go into that.” Brittany gave Santana a small smile. “Just makes her go away faster, you know?”

“You’re a genius, Brittany.”

Quinn came into the room with a slight frown. “All the beds are taken.”

“Should’ve come earlier,” Santana shrugged, indifferent. “Where were you anyway?”

“In the kitchen,” Quinn stammered a little bit. “Trying to get some bacon.” Brittany laughed.

“And you couldn’t have waited fifteen minutes?” Brittany asked. Quinn just blushed.

“Can I sleep here?” Quinn changed the subject back.

“With us, Quinn? Didn’t know you were into that.” Santana smirked. Quinn’s eyes widened.

“No! I’ll, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You may hear some, er, sounds,” Brittany said helpfully. “but that’s okay, you’re a deep sleeper, right?” Quinn’s jaw dropped in horror.

“Ew!” she squealed.

“Lunch!” Puck called.

***

Puck was a surprisingly good cook. You want some proof? Look towards Quinn Fabray, who was munching strips of bacon one after another, whilst gulping orange juice to keep her mouth from being too dry. She was probably eating at three times the speed of everyone else. How she manages to maintain a fit figure was beyond Santana. Hey, bacon is a lot of calories! Quinn didn’t seem to notice the stares she was getting, some of awe, some of slight disgust.

Lunch was finished soon after. People stacked plates and left them by the sink, leaving after, some going upstairs, some going to the garden probably to play football. Puck stared at the unwashed dishes and cutlery in exasperation.

“Guess I have to do these, eh?” Puck mumbled despondently, picking up the first plate. A tap on his shoulder surprised him. Puck whipped around to see the lean figure of Sam.

“I’ll do it.” Sam offered, a smile colouring his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Puck thought nothing of it, smiling gratefully and giving Sam a pat on the back.

“Cheers boss. I’ll make the others do it next time.” Puck said with a smile, rubbing Sam’s hair a little before leaving.

“Yep, next time,” Sam echoed. He applied washing up liquid and started to scrub the plates. He looked out the window whilst he mindlessly scrubbed. The sight of a set of five kitchen knives on a holder on the windowsill caught his attention.

Sam got a little bored, so he started to whistle.

***

The boys were playing the PlayStation in the lounge. Finn and Puck were kicking footballs outside towards each other. Mike quickly joined them, passing the ball effortlessly. Upstairs, Santana was sprawled on top of the bed, casually playing with her phone when Blaine walked in.

“Hey, Santana, where’s the toilet?” he asked. Santana rolled her eyes and slapped her phone back on the bedsheet.

“You couldn’t have asked anyone else?” she scoffed. Blaine didn’t respond, he simply continued to stare at Santana expectantly.

“Go down the corridor, turn left, should be pretty obvious which one the toilet is.” Santana said. “You gonna have a wait a little, Brittany is in there.” she added. “Now come to think of it, she’s been in there for an awful long time…”

Brittany had told Santana that she needed to poo twenty minutes ago. Santana was pretty sure one doesn’t take that long. But she didn’t think too much of it. After all, it was Brittany. She probably got into a minor pickle.

“Oh, okay. Thanks Santana.” Blaine politely bowed his head a little and walked out the door. Santana mentally rolled her eyes again. Rich kids from posh schools. Santana picked up her phone again.

A few minutes later, Brittany came stumbling into the room. Her face was a little flushed, with a shy smile planted on her expression.

“Sorry Sanny, the toilet got blocked.” she heaved. Santana chuckled and wrapped both her arms around Brittany’s waist, before bringing her down on top of the brunette. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a short while before they both leaned towards each other and connected their lips.

***

Sam set down his controller after he finished his round of Call of Duty against Artie. Sam lost miserably.

“Aw, unlucky Sammy,” Artie teased with a smug grin. “Another?” he requested. Sam simply gave a lopsided grin.

“Maybe later. I need some fresh air.” With that, he left, but not before ruffling Artie’s hair a bit. He first went into the kitchen, gulped down a cup of water, then he made his way towards the front door. As he passed the staircase, he saw Brittany sat at the second bottom stair, twiddling her thumbs on her phone. Brittany must have sensed his presence, for she looked up, gave a warm smile, and looked straight back down. Sam managed a small smile in response. He walked further down the hall and opened the front door. He took a heavy inhale, breathing in the sylvan scent of the fresh air, before making his way towards the cars. He saw Puck standing by Santana’s car. Puck turned, and saw Sam, his mouth turning upwards in a smile.

“Hey Sam, what you doing here?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” Sam replied, nonchalant. “What bout you?” Sam noticed the way Puck slowly edged towards his own car.

“Oh, you know, just getting more things from the trunk.” Puck replied.

“Okay.”

***

“I need to go to the loo,” Blaine told Kurt, who was idly flipping through a magazine. “You know where it is?”

“Um I don’t know, sorry,” Kurt replied. “You may have to ask someone.”

“Okay.” Blaine gave Kurt a peck. “See you in a bit,” he said, then left the room.

As he walked down the corridor, he saw that the door to Santana’s room was open, so he walked inside. Santana was lying on her bed, holding her phone above her.

After he asked her where the toilet was, he thanked her and walked in the direction of where Santana told him the toilet was. When he finally got there, he knocked on the door, thinking that Brittany was inside. When he got no response, he knocked again. He then called out, but there was still no response. Putting his hand on the handle and twisting it, he walked inside. There wasn’t anyone there. _Maybe she left_ , Blaine thought, before undoing his zipper.

***

“It’s been a long day peeps, but the night is still young!” Puck cheered. The glee club members have just finished dinner, which Mercedes offered to make. She was going to make some spaghetti and meatballs, but under Puck’s recommendation he said that it would take too long, and she should just make burgers. Mercedes complied, and got to work. After they finished dinner, Sam offered to do the dishes again. Puck gave him a questioning look, but let him, nonetheless, after insisting that he will get someone else to do it next time, thanking him all the same.

“What you wanna do guys?” Puck hollered.

“Karaoke!” Rachel cried. Everyone groaned.

“Party!” Brittany called. Puck grinned.

“We don’t have a whole lot of booze, but we have a whole lot of coke!” Puck announced. A few people’s faces fell, but their face lit up soon after when Puck continued, “Let’s get the stereo up! Let’s get this party rumbling!” he hopped off the table and dashed towards the far side of the room, where the stereo was located.

Brittany and Santana shared a smile.

“Dance with me?”

“Always.”

***

With the gracious help of Tina, Mercedes, Kurt and Blaine, all empty cups and packets were picked up and the room was tidied again, more or less back to its original form before the night. Thanking the helpers, Puck told them they could go to bed. They all left to climb the stairs. Puck sighed a little. What a night it had been. After an hour or so, everyone got tired and one by one went upstairs to sleep.

He threw the trash outside before he made his way back inside, grabbing the set of keys.

Puck mindlessly strolled around the house, making sure that all the doors and windows were locked. He tossed the keys back in the drawer underneath the kitchen sink before something caught his attention.

The knife holder now contained four knives.

~

Just look at all these people, all vulnerable, not knowing what’s about to come. Just look at them, dancing in oblivion. She smiles at me, he smiles at me, yeah, life is good. No one will anticipate anything that I will do.

But hey, I’ll let them have their fun tonight. I have two weeks, after all, so I have plenty of time. I just need to make sure that there is no escape for them when they do find out what is going on.

Earlier today, I slashed the tires of the three cars that got us here. I also now have the key to the gate, so no one is getting out, unless they want to scale a fifteen-foot wall with spikes on top of it.

As far as I’m concerned, there is no escape route, other than the front gate, which I took care of earlier. However, I need to inspect this place a little further, just to make sure that there are no shrubs that someone can wiggle through. But since it’s a little late, so I’ll do it tomorrow.

Also, I need to cut off connections so that they can’t call for help. I’ll deal with the internet tomorrow, too. It’s good that I managed to steal a few chargers earlier, though, so their phones will die soon enough. But I’ll still aim to steal their phones tomorrow.

Now that’s taken care of, I need a plan. Who will I kill first?

The dark ceiling is all I see as I feel enveloped by the cool, crisp fog of darkness. I brush some stray hair away from my forehead as I exhale.

I feel myself drifting into the oblivion that accompanies sleep when ideas start to appear into my head. I smile: I’m excited.

I just hope that I’ll remember them tomorrow.


	3. Day 2

Quinn groaned as she started to stir. She wasn’t used to sleeping on the floor, really, so when she finally sat up, trying to blink away the sleep from her eyes, she let out another unsatisfied groan as she felt pain on her back. She tried to stretch to ease her aching muscles, but to no avail. Brushing tendrils of hair that fell on her face away from her eyes, she got to her feet, swaying a little. With another low whimper escaping her throat, she stretched her arms above her head until it felt better. Letting out a satisfied sigh, she looked towards her left. Two girls were practically fused into one as they tangled together: Quinn couldn’t tell whose legs belonged to whom. Rolling her eyes, she decided to go downstairs for a bit of breakfast. On the way she made a mental note to rid of her bacon addiction, as that cost her a bed and her spine, which still throbbed painfully.

Santana’s mocha eyes opened to the sight of blonde hair. This was what she loved the most: waking up next to her girlfriend on a sunny morning. She smiled into Brittany’s hair and pulled her closer. She saw Brittany’s eye start to twitch slightly, and when she planted a light kiss on the blonde’s forehead, Brittany’s eyebrows shifted a little.

“Away for two weeks…” she mumbled incoherently; it was Santana’s best guess at what Brittany was saying in her sleep. “Not going yet…” she continued to mumble, before finishing with a barely audible “she’s definitely a gay shark,” Santana uncharacteristically giggled at Brittany’s cuteness, before shifting her face so that it was directly in front of the brunette’s, who firmly planted a kiss on Brittany’s lips. Cloudy blue eyes shot open, quickly clearing and growing marginally darker.

“Hmm,” Brittany hummed. Santana smiled into the kiss, before breaking contact altogether.

“Morning babe,” Santana cooed. Brittany’s mouth formed a languid smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Perfect,” Brittany murmured. “Today’s gonna be great. I just feel it.”

“Why’s that?” Santana asked.

“I just woke up with you.”

Santana blushed as much as a Latina could.

***

“Morning Quinn,” Puck said, as he saw the blonde make her way down the stairs. “May I fix you up with some beverage in these early hours? Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?”

“I’ll take some coffee, thanks.” Quinn responded.

“Whatever you want, m’lady.” Puck bowed. Quinn laughed and swatted at Puck’s arm.

A short while later, coffee was served, and Puck and Quinn walked towards the dining room and sat down at opposite ends of a table.

“You look like you’re in pain,” Puck noted jokingly.

“I actually am,” Quinn responded, taking a gulp of coffee.

“Did you actually sleep on the floor? Like, on the wood?” Puck asked incredulously.

“Yeah, how else was I going to sleep? All the beds were taken.”

“Should’ve come to me,” Puck sighed.

“Puck, I’m not going to sleep in your bed again! You know what happened the last time.” Quinn huffed. Puck’s eyes widened at what he unintentionally implied.

“No! I meant you could’ve come for a sleeping bag. I have some spare pillows too. Or, you could always use me as a pillow…” Quinn’s hand reached over the table and gave Puck a hard smack. “Okay, okay! Jeez,” Puck muttered, rubbing his arm.

The sound of glass clinking caught both their ears. They instantly got up and walked towards the direction of where the sound came from. Sam was rearranging some glass cups in a cupboard. He turned towards the entryway.

“Hey guys,” Sam gave the pair a warm smile. “Up early I see?”

“It’s not that early Sam,” Quinn reprimanded. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to get a cup, but then I messed up the other ones, so I had to put them back to where they were before.” Sam explained.

“Didn’t know you had OCD,” Puck quipped, “Wanna come sit with us down there?” Puck pointed towards the dining room.

“Sure. I’ll be right with you in a sec,” Sam dismissed them with a nonchalant wave of the hand. The pair left.

They were walking their way back when Santana descended from the stairs. She saw the cup of coffee in Quinn’s hands.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” Santana said, snatching the cup from Quinn’s hands and taking a huge swallow. Quinn immediately snatched it back with a scowl, continuing her way towards the dining room, Santana following in their wake. When the brunette saw that the room was empty, she frowned.

“Did Britt not come down here?” she enquired.

“Nope,” Puck popped the end of the word. “Why, is she not with you?”

“Nah, she got up a while ago. I just figured she came down here.” Santana said.

“Probably just hanging out with Mike or something,” Quinn suggested. Santana nodded in response.

“So, what we eating?”

“I can make toast,” Sam suddenly appeared.

“Cheers Sam.”

***

“Hey, Rachel, have you seen my charger?” Finn asked.

“No.”

***

It was now late morning. By then, all but Kurt and Blaine had eaten, and everyone went different directions to do their own thing. Artie had come over about half an hour ago and challenged Sam to another round of Call of Duty. Sam had agreed, even though he didn’t really see the point of playing someone much better than him. He was just going to lose every round.

Sam was now getting a little frustrated. He let out curses when he missed some easy shots on Artie’s character’s head. After a few more rounds he realised that Artie was running in the open on purpose. That only made Sam madder. After a round where Artie zigzagged towards Sam and killed Sam’s character with a melee attack, Sam has had enough. He threw the controller down on the couch.

“Well, you can’t win ‘em all, Sammy.” Artie said in mock sympathy. Sam knew that he had a smug grin on his face without even looking at him.

“You just did.” Sam growled. His voice sounded dangerously low.

“Hey, sometimes practice alone doesn’t take you far in this game. You just need a little talent,” Artie responded in a light manner. Sam didn’t know if he was serious or not. “Just like life, I guess. Wanna go again?”

“What’s the point,” Sam grumbled. “You’ll just beat me again.” He got up from the couch and made his leave. Just as he was about to walk out the door, Brittany appeared in his sight.

“Sam, why the sad face?” Brittany pouted. Sam found himself lost into her innocent blue eyes, feeling a tingle in his spine. Brittany was pretty. He shook his head once to bring himself back to his senses before Santana hunted him down. Unknowingly, a smile graced his large lips.

“Artie’s just being a bit of a jerk,” he mumbled. Brittany’s pout deepened. “He’s just toying with me on CoD and it got annoying.”

“Oh. Well, since you’re not playing anymore, can I play?” Brittany asked hopefully.

“Uh sure, if you want, but Artie isn’t really a good opponent to play against.” Sam replied.

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” Brittany said with a wave of her hand. “I’m just playing to have fun.” She made her way inside and plopped down on the couch next to Artie.

“Fun,” Sam scoffed scornfully. “Didn’t know you were into shooter games, Brittany.”

“Well, you don’t know me very well, do you, Sam?” Brittany gestured for Sam to sit next to her. Sam did. Artie looked at Brittany and smiled. He started to set up the game from the menu screen.

“Playing me, Brittany?” he asked, eliciting a nod from the blonde. “Huh. Well, easy claps, I guess.” Artie shrugged, confident.

“Don’t celebrate too early,” Brittany warned. “Or in this case, before you even start playing.”

A few rounds in, Santana came in and saw that Brittany was playing a video game, which was a rare sight. She decided to stay and watch. Every so often she would look at Brittany’s expression, which remained carefree and relaxed. Then she would glance at her opponent, Artie, who was growing more and more frustrated by the minute.

Artie threw the controller away angrily when Brittany killed him twelve times, while Artie didn’t kill her once. By then, they had gathered a crowd who cheered when Artie’s character died. It was quite refreshing to see Artie on the losing end for once. Brittany beamed proudly.

“Damn, didn’t know you were this good, Brittany,” Sam said in awe.

“She’s a beast,” Finn gasped. Some other boys nodded their heads in agreement. Artie cursed under his breath and mumbled something. Brittany caught the word “stupid”. She turned to him.

“Normally, you throw the controller and then leave the room, because you’re raging. But you can’t do that Artie, can you, because you can’t go anywhere without your wheelchair,” Brittany said to the still fuming Artie, whose anger probably just rose a few more levels.

“Ooh,” a low chorus of several boys could be heard.

“Santana’s been teaching you tricks. Attagirl!” Puck sniggered. The other boys joined in. However, Santana’s expression remained stoic. She stared at her girlfriend, wondering where that spurt of sudden, uncharacteristic meanness came from.

***

“Hey Quinn?” Quinn, who was eating a BLT sandwich, glanced over her shoulder to see Santana walking towards her.

“Yeah?”

“Since when did Brittany play shooter games?” Santana asked, picking up a fresh BLT sandwich that was lying on a plate on top of the dining table.

“She does?” Quinn was shocked to say the least.

“Yeah. And she is freakishly good. She just obliterated Artie, who’s like better than everyone else.”

“Well, I can see why Artie is so good, he spends his life sitting down,” Quinn commented. Santana smirked. “But Brittany? Weird.” Quinn would’ve never pegged Brittany as a gamer. Much less an FPS gamer. It just didn’t seem to fit her personality. From what Quinn heard, Brittany would go out of her way to rescue stray dogs that are injured in the wild, or save insects tangled up in spider webs. Playing games where you kill? A little too morbid for a girl of Brittany’s nature.

“Hmm, yeah, weird,” Santana contemplated.

“So, where is she?”

“With the boys,” Santana sighed. “I swear to god, she spends more time with them than with me. If one of them hits on her I swear I will go –”

“Relax, S. You know how she is, she gets along with everyone. Maybe that was the point of this trip here. Bond with people in glee club, improve chemistry so that we can win Nationals next year. We should probably try it as well.” Quinn said.

“Yeah, maybe. Q, I’m kinda worried about her. Just now in the other room, she made a really savage comment on how Artie doesn’t have function in his legs. It felt really weird to hear stuff like that come out of her sweet mouth. So monotonously as well! And you should’ve seen her expression. It was completely void of emotion!” Santana vocalised.

“The thing she said, was it like your level kind of mean?” Santana thought for a short while, then nodded in affirmation. Quinn’s lips curved up into a thin smile. “Well, who is the one person she spends the most time with?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Santana muttered. Quinn’s hazel eyes stared her down. “Me?”

“Yes you, Silly San. Wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that she is learning from you. That’s not a bad thing, only means that she’s starting to stand up for herself.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want her to hurt other people. I’m such a bad influence,” Santana buried her head in her hands.

“Shut up S, you know what crap you are spewing right now?” Quinn’s voice was slightly raised. “You two bring the best out of each other.”

“I guess you’re right,” Santana conceded.

“Damn right I am,” Quinn grinned. “There’s a reason why I’m head cheerio. Well, used to be head cheerio.” She corrected and swallowed the last bite of her sandwich. She looked at her empty hands, then saw the sandwich in the brunette’s hands. “Now give me your sandwich.” Quinn’s voice sounded quite stern. Santana subconsciously held on to her half-eaten sandwich a little tighter.

“Excuse me?”

“Give me your sandwich.” Quinn repeated.

“It has my spit all over it.” Santana argued.

“Don’t care,” Quinn said quickly, before Santana’s hold on her sandwich loosened and Quinn grabbed it out of her hands. She started to munch on it, taking quick bites.

“What the hell is up with you Q,” Santana grumbled.

“I’m hungry,” Quinn stated. “I didn’t really have breakfast.” Santana was almost certain that was not true, but she let it go and watched Quinn consume the rest of the sandwich in silence.

***

“Hudson, here!” Puck called, both hands down pointing towards his feet. When Finn didn’t seem to hear, Puck shouted again, only louder, “Hudson, pass the freaking ball!” Finn looked up, and back down at the football at his feet. He made a move to kick the ball towards Puck, but Mike suddenly appeared out of nowhere and tackled Finn, expertly dribbling the ball away from them. “No, Finn!” Puck whined, as Mike made his way closer and closer to the goal.

“Stop it, Sam!” Finn shouted, somewhat feebly, as Mike struck the ball sweetly towards the goal. Sam dived towards it, but Mike placed it out of reach of Sam’s hands, so the ball soared straight past the two sticks acting as goalposts and straight into the bush behind.

Mike did a small pop and lock in celebration.

“Finn! Stop hogging the ball!” Puck exclaimed exasperatedly, striding towards the tall boy with large steps.

“Sorry, didn’t know where the ball was,” Finn said in a somewhat embarrassed manner.

“I’ll go get the ball,” Mike said, starting his way past Sam and towards the bushes.

“Nah, I’ll go get it,” Sam said, placing a hand on the Asian’s shoulder, then walking off towards the direction of the where the ball flew. Puck, Finn and Mike watched him first reach a hand into the bushes, before he changed his mind and disappeared into them.

“So, I think I win,” Mike smiled, looking at the two boys in front of him. Puck and Finn exchanged looks. Considering that they are all members of the football team, you would expect them to have some form of stamina. But Puck and Finn were both out of breath while Mike seemed like his heart rate didn’t even rise.

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Puck grumbled. The sound of a door closing behind them caught all of their expression. Simultaneously, all three heads whipped towards the sound of the voice. There stood Brittany, right hand still on the door, looking back at them with a deer caught in headlights expression. That didn’t last long, though. She quickly composed herself and mustered up a smile.

“Can I join?” she asked innocently. Mike flashed a big smile and bounded towards her.

“Sure thing, Brittany.” He looked back at Puck and Finn and gave a smirk. “Dancers versus jocks.”

“Hey, not fair,” Finn groaned. “You just won, and now you get Brittany as well?” he said, just as Sam reappeared from the bushes.

“You’re only as strong as your weakest player,” Brittany shrugged as Sam rejoined them. No one could argue with that. “Maybe you should go in goal, Finn, since you’re so tall like the tree in Jack and the Beanstalk. Puck gets to go with Sam.”

“Okay! It has been decided!” Mike said excitedly, bouncing the football on the ground.

“We get to start with the ball, since you won.” Puck requested. Mike kicked the ball towards him in agreement as everyone walked away to set up their positions. Puck kicked the ball towards Sam to commence the game.

***

Santana and Quinn heard some voices shouting outside so they decided to go and “investigate” (Quinn’s word not Santana’s). When they stepped out of the back door, squinting as the sunlight shot into their eyes, the sight that greeted them was not surprising: just some people playing football. What was new to Santana was Brittany playing with them. Quinn seemed to sense her unease.

“Remember what I said? Bonding time with friends for better chemistry.” Quinn reminded Santana.

“Yeah, I guess.” The two girls at next to each other on garden chairs in the patio that they now walked into.

They watched the football game in comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Quinn suddenly piped up.

“You know, S? Maybe I’m being a bit paranoid, but I have a bad feeling about this.” Quinn’s quiet voice broke the silence. Santana looked over and quirked an eyebrow.

“Why?” Santana asked. Quinn seemed to shrink back into herself. A plethora of emotions flickered through her hazel-green eyes before they settled on slight embarrassment.

“It’s stupid,” she tried to dismiss what she brought up. But Santana, being a naturally stubborn person, didn’t let her back down.

“Don’t say that Q. Come on, you can tell me, I’m not going to judge. You’re my bestie – well most of the time anyway, when we’re not ripping each other’s hair out,” Santana tried to offer a comforting smile, which seemed to work, as Quinn relaxed a bit.

“It’s just that, this?” she waved her hand in a wide circle to gesture everything around them. “Seems like something straight out of a horror movie. People go on a holiday to somewhere very remote, where no one is nearby to help. Bad things then happen. Like, what if there was this killer who comes and kills us one by one, and then eats our kidneys? Or this psychopath that breaks in and rapes us? Or there could be this clown –” Santana cut off Quinn’s rambling with a laugh.

“I thought you were the one that told me to relax, Q.” Santana chuckled. Quinn’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to judge me.” Quinn said petulantly.

“I wasn’t,” Santana replied. “Even in the very unlikely scenario that you were right, someone breaks in and manages to kill us and extract our kidneys, later devouring them, as long as we stick together, nothing will happen. It’s going to be like, twelve against one anyway. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Quinn’s expression softened. “You make me sound ridiculous,” she sighed.

“Probably because your worrying kind of got out of hand there,” Santana smirked. Quinn playfully slapped Santana’s arm, and they fell into comfortable silence again.

Santana watched her girlfriend play football with the boys. She wasn’t very good, occasionally missing the ball completely. Although Santana did notice how kind Mike was: despite clearly being the best out of all of them, he still passed the ball to Brittany a lot so that she was constantly engaged in the game and actively participating. Despite Brittany’s many mistakes during the game, her and Mike are still beating Puck and Sam. They seemed to be having a lot of fun, and the idea elicited a warm smile from Santana.

“Why are you smiling?” Quinn asked.

“Nothing,” Santana sung, still smiling. “Maybe just how perfect my girlfriend is,” she said, just as Brittany scored her first goal in the game. It wasn’t a particularly good shot, but because Finn tripped over his own foot the ball rolled between the sticks.

“You’re so whipped,” Quinn smirked, just as they both witnessed Puck say something jokingly, which prompted Brittany to protest with a “Hey!” and giving Puck a small playful push, everyone laughing all the same.

Santana didn’t have a response to that; she didn’t need to. She watched Brittany high-five Mike before the game continued.

Unbeknownst to all of them, Mercedes sat at the far corner, drinking her third can of coke, watching everything unfolding before her with a wistful smile.

***

For once, Sam didn’t do the dishes after dinner had been served. This time it had been Tina who cooked alongside Mike. Brittany offered to help, but since she had a knack for creating a fire making buttered bread, she was politely refused. Brittany didn’t seem to mind, as she just bounded off without so much a frown or a look of hurt. The Asian couple decided to make egg fried rice, as they claimed that it was simple and quick, yet also delicious. A few people were sceptical, but after a few bites they really liked it and complimented Mike and Tina for conjuring up such a simple yet tasty meal. As for the dishes, Puck nominated Finn to do it. Finn immediately blanched, making up a lame excuse saying how he was too tall to do the dishes. Quinn whispered to Santana and Brittany that Finn didn’t know how to; he never washed dishes before. The three girls sniggered. Puck rolled his eyes at Finn’s atrocious excuse as Mercedes offered to help. She received a grateful thank you, then she set to work diligently washing each bowl and plate.

Artie had wanted to play Brittany at Call of Duty again: after suffering his rather humiliating defeat he was more than determined to reclaim his title as the best player out of all of them. When Artie confronted Brittany asking for a game, Brittany simply shrugged and agreed. She sat idly on the couch fiddling with the sticks on the controller while Artie tried to get the game going.

“Strange,” he mumbled. “The internet isn’t working.” He let go of the controller, walking towards the console and gave it a smack, as if it would help. It didn’t. “Well, since the internet decided to stop working, I guess we have to play offline,” Artie told Brittany, who nodded.

Brittany was still beating him easily despite Artie’s attempts to cheat by handicapping Brittany’s character. Brittany wanted to make a comment on how it’s ironic as Artie is the one who is handicapped in real life, but she bit her tongue and didn’t say anything.

Artie chucked the controller at Brittany’s face when Brittany killed him with a melee attack. Brittany flinched and barely dodged the controller, which continued its way and smashed against the wall behind her.

“Hey, it’s only a game,” Brittany said calmly. “Why do you have to be mad?”

“You’re fucking cheating,” Artie seethed.

“Are you kidding me?” Brittany said incredulously. “You just won’t admit that I’m better than you because you’re used to being the best at this game.”

Artie closed his eyes and counted to ten. He wanted to rip Brittany’s face apart.

“Can’t believe I’m losing to a stupid girl,” Artie mumbled. He then spoke up, addressing the blonde. “I’ll beat you tomorrow. I’ll whip your ass so hard you can’t walk.” Artie threatened stubbornly.

“Bring it on,” Brittany shrugged. Truth is, she had caught Artie calling her… that word, but she ignored it for now, because Santana had proven more than enough times that she was anything but… that word. “Funny you’re saying that though, because you’re the one whose ass is whipped so hard you can’t walk.” Brittany was using Artie’s words against him.

“Fuck!” Artie cursed loudly, before rolling away in his wheelchair, making sure that one of his wheels rolled over Brittany’s foot. She yelped in pain, but Artie paid her no mind and left the room.

After he left, Brittany suddenly felt an urge to cry. She bit her lip hard to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m not stupid, I’m not stupid,” she murmured it like a mantra. She may have to go to Santana again to feel better.

***

“It has been brought to my attention that the internet has ceased to work,” Puck announced to the whole group when they gathered. “Thank you, Sam,” he added, to which Sam responded with a nod. “My best guess is that, due to the rather rural location of this house, the internet got cut off from us. But fear not people, the internet should be back up and running tomorrow. It’s nothing to worry about.” He sent a pointed look at Quinn, whose cheeks tinted pink, much to Santana’s amusement. “Okay guys that’s it from me.” Puck finished and jumped off the table, grabbing a can of coke from the counter.

The faint buzz of conversation resonated in the room once again.

“Sanny?” Brittany’s small voice reached the brunette’s ears.

“Yeah, Britt-Britt?” Santana’s expression showed genuine concern after seeing Brittany’s despondent expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Artie called me… that word… again.” Brittany’s voice couldn’t have been louder than a whisper.

“Artie? That fucker!” Santana’s angry voice alarms Brittany. “I swear I will go Lima Heights on –”

“Artie called you stupid?” Sam popped out of nowhere and appeared in front of the two girls. Brittany winced at that word being said.

“Don’t say that word!” Santana admonished hotly. “And it’s none of your business!” Sam said nothing. “Go away!” Sam obediently followed Santana’s order.

“Come here Britt,” she cradled Brittany’s head against her shoulders in a tight embrace. “I’ll make you feel better. Let’s go to bed.”

Brittany’s eyes turned a shade darker. “Are you going to do that thing where –”

“Sure, if you like.” Santana husked. “Follow me,” Brittany eagerly climbed the stairs after Santana.

Quinn watched the whole conversation transpire between her best friends whilst sipping on a mug of hot chocolate.

When she finished, Mercedes came over promptly to collect the empty mug. She went to the kitchen to wash it up.

~

Well, well, well. I can’t wait to get started.

I had decided before I arrived that I wanted my first victim to die of an “accidental” death. Panic is sweet. But I don’t want to bestow that on your peers on their second day, do I? No.

Now how will I cause this “accidental” death?

Before yesterday night, I had initially planned for something like glassware to fall from a high cupboard, smashing the victim’s head open, where he or she would bleed to death.

There are a few flaws with that plan, however.

How would I get them to reach for things, and how can I guarantee that the glassware would fall?

What if the glass doesn’t even hit them? And even if it did, they probably wouldn’t die from a blow to the head.

There are too many variables. That plan was too unreliable.

I had racked my brains for something better. I was just about to give up.

But an idea struck me just as sleep was about to take me away.

Electricity.

It’s perfect. These things, such as short circuits happen all the time. The harder part is to lure the person towards the electrical hazard. That is what I’m not so sure about, yet. Which is why I came up with some sort of plan. If all goes well, my victim wouldn’t even see me. They wouldn’t even know they were murdered. It would all be one, tragic accident.

Artie is a bit of a jerk. He hurts so many people. Nah, I’m being too kind. He is an arrogant prick, even though he is humbled by his wheelchair. Imagine an un-handicapped Artie. Monster.

Congratulations, Artie Abrams. You get the honour of being the first one to die. God has mercy on your soul, as it will be an “accident”. Most likely painless. Consider yourself lucky.

Oh yeah, Abrams kind of rhymes with congratulations. I’m actually so cool. Pat on the back for me.

It’s late at night. I may have fed Artie a little too much to drink earlier. Not booze, of course. There isn’t much in the house anyway. Just fluids in general. He will be up to go to the toilet in no time.

It does take a while, but he comes out eventually. The house is dead silent. Perfect. No one will know what happened until tomorrow. Well, except me of course.

He does his thing in the toilet. Don’t ask me how he does it, I don’t know, and I don’t really want to anyway. When he finishes and comes out, it’s game time.

I press a button on my device and a sound pings from the lounge. Good thing he just slept downstairs today. No one could be asked to carry him upstairs after the way he acted. That is just fantastic: it makes my plan a whole lot smoother and much more likely to be successful.

It’s nearly impossible to miss the sound, which reverberates across the whole, deathly silent house. I listen intently for signs of movement from the corner. Nothing, except the vague creak of the wheelchair. Although, soon I can make out Artie making his way into the lounge and towards the PlayStation. Perfect, this is exactly where I want him to be. I press another button on my device and I hear a cracking sound from the wires connecting the PlayStation. This is going so well. I had melted the wire a little earlier so that the live wire is exposed. He touches that, and poof. He’s dead.

Any second now.

His fingers creep closer and closer towards the PlayStation console. He’s probably wondering why it got a notification. The internet’s down, after all. As he moves to shut off the device, blinding white and a loud crack is what all my senses can sense. He probably yelped or screamed, but I couldn’t hear over the sound the wire made when skin came into contact with it. Oh well, he’s dust now. The sound will wake people up, but they won’t do anything about it. They will just go back to sleep.

The sound of beds creaking and rustling proves that it did wake people up. But just like I predicted, no one got up. Gold star for me.

I make my way underneath the covers and settle in. It’s good that the house didn’t burn down from the electrical fault: that was my main fear of the plan. But it all worked out. I feel myself starting to grin – this could not have gone any better. I don’t even have blood on my hands. And with that thought, I let myself get consumed by peaceful sleep.


	4. Day 3

Quinn woke up to the sound of screaming. A little too early to her liking. She threw her hands over her face and flipped, so that she was lying on her stomach. The same scream came again. Quinn was a bit too tired to make out what the person was trying to express through the screams, and she wasn’t particularly bothered to find out anyway. She covered both her ears with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut.

The scream came a third time. Quinn had had enough; she wanted more sleep.

“Shut up!” she yelled into her pillow, before letting out a sulky huff and burying herself beneath the covers.

Brittany watched Quinn struggle with an amused smile on her face. Two years ago, old Quinn would’ve been mortified at this Quinn that was now thrashing her feet and wriggling underneath the covers. You would imagine someone of Quinn’s popularity and status as HBIC at school to behave in a tough manner in and out of school. That was not the case at all. You get Quinn, who has an unusual bacon addiction and was now moaning to whatever higher power to make the screams stop. You also get Santana, who was a cuddle monster and totally a bottom.

Speaking of Santana, she was now stirring as well. Her face contorted into several expressions before her eyes finally opened.

“The hell?” Santana’s eyes cleared as she started to grasp her surroundings. “Who’s screaming like a banshee?” Brittany shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled as the screaming finally stopped. “I’m going to go check it out.”

“Yeah, I’ll come with as well,” Santana responded with a deep exhale to wake her up more. Quinn’s relieved groan caught the girls’ attention.

“Oh, thank the Lord, now I can sleep in peace,” she grumbled, barely audibly, but Santana and Brittany both caught what she said. They exchanged devilish smirks.

“She’ll come with us,” Santana snickered, and Brittany nodded in agreement. They got up from the bed, Brittany first, then Santana, and walked the few steps to where Quinn was laying. Brittany crouched down and shook Quinn’s shoulder.

“No,” Quinn whined. Brittany pushed her shoulder upwards, so Quinn flipped back onto her back, face no longer pressed into her pillow. Her eyes were still shut, only more tightly now that light were shooting at her eyelids.

“Get up,” Brittany commanded with another shake of her shoulder.

“No!” Quinn whined again, only much louder this time. Santana decided to take this ordeal into her own hands. She stuck one of her hands under Quinn and lifted up, so Quinn was forced into a sitting position.

“No! Why! Let me sleep!” Quinn whimpered, as she tried to blindly swat away the hands.

“Nope. You’re coming with us.” Santana hoisted Quinn up, so she was standing on her feet. Well, she wasn’t really standing, more like held upright by Santana’s arms.

Quinn squealed in protest and tried to wriggle free from Santana’s grasp, to no avail.

“Get me my pillow! Get me my pillow!” Quinn demanded futilely. Her head found its way onto Santana’s shoulders, and she relaxed. “Aah, pillow,” she mumbled contently with her eyes still closed. Santana glanced at Brittany for help. Brittany thought for a second, then an idea struck her head. She walked over to her bedside table and grabbed a bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap, grabbed Quinn’s head and pulled it away from Santana’s shoulder, before emptying the contents of the bottle into Quinn’s face. A splash was heard, and within the space of a few seconds Quinn’s face was soaking wet.

Quinn gasped and her eyes shot open. It took her a while to fathom what was going on, but when she realised that Brittany had splashed water over her face, while Santana was holding her in place, her brows furrowed in a scowl.

“What did you do that for?” she asked angrily.

“Had to get you to get up somehow,” Brittany replied, cavalier.

“You were being a total baby. You were whining all over the place and begging for your pillow,” Santana added helpfully with a small laugh. Quinn blanched.

“I was not!” she gasped.

“You totally were,” Brittany said. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Quinn groaned.

“Investigate,” Santana replied.

“Oh, yeah, the screaming. It’s like someone died,” Quinn muttered. Brittany hummed in response.

The trio left the room.

***

As the girls were walking down the hallway they bumped into Sam, whose hair was slightly messy and looked like he just got up, but seemed to be in a good mood.

“Hey girls,” Sam greeted. Brittany smiled back at him in response, whereas Santana just rolled her eyes. “Woke up to the screaming?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Quinn huffed. “You know who it was?”

“Nah, I think it came from that room though,” Sam pointed to a room further down whose door was closed. “Since I’m up, might as well get some breakfast.” Brittany waved him goodbye, and Sam sauntered off brushing his fringe back so that his hair didn’t get into his eyes. They turned back to the door that Sam pointed a few seconds ago.

“You know, San? I’m actually pretty scared,” Quinn whispered.

“Of what?” Santana scoffed.

“I don’t know, the thing we were talking about outside yesterday?” Quinn raised her eyebrows to emphasize her point. Brittany fixed Quinn with a stare.

“Wait, you guys were talking?” Brittany asked. Quinn nodded. The taller blonde let out a puff of air and didn’t say anything more.

“Quinn, seriously, you worry too much,” Santana said offhand. She took several strides to get to the door and stopped right in front of it, wrapping tanned fingers around the handle. “You see, there is nothing to be –” she turned the handle and opened the door. She frowned at the sight. “worried about.” she finished anyway, trailing off.

“Rachel?” Quinn said, amused. Rachel was curled up in the corner of the room, hugging her legs close to her chest and subtly rocking back and forth. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I just witnessed the most horrible thing in ever witnessed by mankind,” Rachel rasped. Santana rolled her eyes and walked forward so that she was in the room now. The other two blondes followed her too.

“Please, entertain us,” Santana said. As soon as Rachel’s mouth opened and she took a deep breath, Santana regretted her words already.

“I was a Broadway star, just standing on stage where I belong, and the music started; I was about to sing. Things went perfectly for a minute or so, I could see everyone in the audience captivated by my enchanting performance. I tried to make eye contact with each and every one of them, because, as you know, to be a successful performer you have to engage with your audience. But since there was so many, I just couldn’t do it. The audience was so big that I had to sing louder that the sound reaches the back –”

“Okay, get to the point.” Santana was growing impatient now.

“Oh, okay. As I was saying, the sound had to reach the back, so I sung a bit louder. Then –”

“I’m pretty sure S just said to get to the point,” Quinn chuckled.

“Suddenly a stage light fell from the ceiling and struck me in the face. I fell down, but to be a successful performer, you have to keep going no matter what happens. The show must go on, you know?”

“No, I don’t know, but keep going,” Brittany said monotonously.

“I stood up, eager to continue my performance and get a standing ovation from the huge crowd at the end. But as I started singing again, I realised that I couldn’t hear myself. I sung louder, but I still couldn’t. Then I realised that I had gone deaf. I couldn’t tell if the audience was booing me or not, and that’s the worst feeling, you know? You need to respond proactively to the audience to be a successful performer. You need to –”

“Okay, let me get this straight. You dreamed that you were a Broadway star and you turned deaf in the middle of a performance,” Santana said. Rachel nodded. “Okay, two things. One, you could’ve just said the essay you just spewed in one sentence. Two, you screamed because of that?”

“Well,” Rachel faltered. “I didn’t actively know that I was screaming, I just remember being really scared that everything I have worked hard for in my life had come crumbling down in a second.”

“I’m bored,” Brittany stated.

“So am I,” Quinn agreed. Santana opened her mouth to slash Rachel with her words before another scream pierced the house. Santana sighed.

“Well, that definitely wasn’t Rachel, so investigation number two?”

“Investigation number two.” Quinn confirmed, leading the way out of the room.

***

By the time that the Unholy Trinity had reached the bottom of the stairs, there was already a surprising number of people up and out of bed.

“What’s the time?” Quinn frowned, perplexed.

“I don’t know, like eight or something,” Brittany replied, equally flummoxed. The girls walked into the lounged where there seemed to be a commotion, everyone gathered together in front of the sofa. Santana looked at the people’s expressions. Some had their mouths open, gaping at the sight, yet were speechless. Tina and Mercedes had hands covering their mouths. If Santana had to guess, their mouths were also open. Kurt and Blaine stood at the side a bit further away, eyes wide and locked in an embrace. This was all very weird to Santana. In that moment, she felt annoyed at her height, as she couldn’t see anything with all the bodies in the way.

“Okay guys, what the hell is going on here?” Santana demanded. Finn and Sam turned around, saw the girls who seemed to want to see, muttered an apology and parted so that the view was clear. Quinn’s eyes darted from Finn’s to Sam’s, and saw the grief in Finn’s eyes. She was a bit confused. What had got everyone so upset? When she tore her hazel-green eyes away from the boys and saw what was in front of her, she understood.

“Holy shit,” Quinn heard Santana mumble. Before them, was a whole lot of soot, along with a charred figure lying face-down right next to the mess.

“Who is that?” she asked. But she answered her own question when she saw the unoccupied wheelchair a few meters away from her.

“Is he –” Quinn started.

“Dead.” Sam finished for her, before stepping away from the scene and walking straight out of the room.

“How on earth did this happen?” Santana inquired.

“Seems like he got electrocuted,” Mercedes answered. Santana simply nodded in understanding. She looked to her right. Brittany still hadn’t said a word.

Santana was about to ask if she was okay before Brittany abruptly stepped forward, and directly into the electrical hazard before anyone could stop her. She lifted Artie’s face to get a closer look. The was suddenly a buzz of chatter and warnings from everyone around her.

“Brittany!” Santana screeched. “Get the hell away from there!” Brittany paid her no mind. She took a good look at Artie’s limp form, then went to examine the wires that was likely to have killed him.

“It’s a wonder this didn’t burn down the house,” she mumbled. She stretched a finger towards the remains of the wire and the socket, before a strong pair of arms surged forward and grabbed Brittany’s waist, harshly yanking her back.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Santana cried, hysterical. “What were you trying to achieve there?”

“Figure out what caused the wire to explode like that,” Brittany replied flatly.

“What? No! Brittany, you realise that is exactly what killed him, right? You don’t even know anything about electricity! How can you be so stupid?” Santana shrieked. As soon as that last word escaped her mouth, Santana knew that she had just made a huge mistake. She saw Brittany’s expression flicker from shock, to hurt. But soon, her expression hardened. Santana opened her mouth to try and save herself, but Brittany beat her to it.

“For one thing, _Santana_ , I know more than you think. Also, out of all people, I would not expect you to call me _stupid_ , after all that time you spent convincing me otherwise. Guess that was all a lie, huh?” Brittany spat spitefully, Santana’s name and… that word like bile in her throat.

“No, Britt, please –” Santana tried. Brittany, however, didn’t want to hear any of it. She stalked away from the scene, bumping Santana’s shoulder harshly on the way.

“Shit,” Santana cursed under her breath in despair. Quinn looked at Santana with a sad smile. “I really shouldn’t have said that.”

“You really shouldn’t have,” Quinn echoed. Puck barged into the room.

“Hey fellas!” he beamed. “Up early I see? Who’s ready for some rocking breakfast?” When the whole room stared at him with despondent expressions, his smile faltered. “What’s the matter guys? Grumpy much in the early morning?” When his eyes drifted to the dark mess by the television, he frowned in confusion. “What in the holy hell?”

“Artie got electrocuted,” Mike told Puck. Santana had forgotten that he was even in the room.

“Wait what?” Puck asked incredulously. “This isn’t a joke?”

Everyone’s expressions made the answer to his question clear.

“Fuck,” Puck rubbed his temples. “Okay, I’ll deal with it. Everyone go eat or something.”

Santana and Quinn walked through the door as they heard a door slam upstairs.

***

“Britt!” Santana shouted, frantically pounding the closed door in front of her. Quinn stood by her side. “Please let me in!”

Quinn sighed when there was no response. “Maybe she just needs space,”

Santana shook her head. “Even if she does, she would just tell me to go away. I always give her space when she needs,” Santana replied. Then a horrible thought struck her head. “Oh my god, what if she’s not okay? What if she got electrocuted just like Artie? Brittany!” Santana screamed, voice cracking slightly. Quinn reached for Santana’s desperate arms, but Santana snatched them away.

“I’m coming in, okay? Brittany, I’m coming in!” Santana turned the handle and stumbled into the room. “Britt?”

The room was empty.

“She’s not here, S. Just leave her alone for a while, she’ll forgive you in time.” Santana sighed in defeat.

“Yeah, okay.” she conceded. Quinn left for the stairs. Santana trudged after her.

When the two girls disappeared from sight, Sam went into the girls’ room and saw a charger lying on a bedside table. He smiled, picked it up, and left. He recharged his phone.

***

Puck tried his best to ignore the corpse beside him as he examined the charred wires that was now in two parts, one part lying limply with some kind of puddle around it, the other part dangling limply from the socket, which was now a mixture of brown and black and shape completely deformed. It appeared to be an electrical fault, probably something wrong with the wire, which is why it shocked whoever touched it. Or the fact that so many things were plugged into the socket could also be a hazard. He would have to check the other appliances to make sure that it is actually safe. He would not endanger any more people’s lives due to his laziness. Puck sighed; he was not looking forward to this.

He should call the police since there was now a deceased person in the house. Get them to come, collect, leave. Maybe that would be the end of their vacation, but Puck figured that would be the right thing to do. He stood up and felt his back pocket for his phone. When he felt nothing, he felt a small jolt of panic. But that was quickly quelled when he felt the shape of his phone in his front left pocket. He got it out, and proceeded to dial the emergency number.

No service.

What? Puck was pretty sure that even if a phone had no service, you could still call the police. But the calls are not sending through. Letting out a huff, he gave up after three attempts, all to no avail. His phone wasn’t even detecting any internet. Talking of internet, he should probably check the internet and figure out why it was down. He left the room to go into the room with the router.

He didn’t see anything wrong with it at first glance; it wasn’t sooty or anything. But upon closer inspection, he realised why the internet had ceased to work.

The wires have been cut. Puck looked closer. This didn’t seem like an accident. Someone intentionally cut the wires that gained them access to the internet. For a second, his blood ran cold. Was someone out to get them? He immediately dismissed the thought. There was no one else in this whole house, except for the glee club members. It was strange, but Puck will deal with it later. Maybe someone had a reason to do it. Doubtful, but Puck decided to not jump to conclusions too fast.

He remembered the lifeless corpse lying beside him a moment ago. Right, Artie. He couldn’t leave him in the lounge. He’ll keep him in the back garden until the authorities come. He would need help, though.

Puck hated how the whole mood of this vacation shifted with a tragic accident. Even if this vacation was to last the full two weeks, Artie’s death would be on the back of everyone’s minds and people would not have fun like they had the past few days. He sighed. He walked into the dining room.

Brittany, who was eating crisps, sat opposite Mike at the dining table, who was sitting next to Tina. He saw Mercedes at the side, dusting a laptop for some reason. They seemed to be having a conversation of sorts, of what Puck didn’t know. He decided to interrupt.

“Mike?” Mike’s head turned up to look at Puck. “You mind helping me with something?”

“Sure, name it.” Mike replied.

“Just need to get him out of the lounge. I was thinking the back garden. Help me carry him?” Puck requested. Mike nodded, said a goodbye to the people he was sitting with, and followed Puck back into the lounge.

At that moment when they left Sam joined the room, carrying a can of coke.

“Can I join you guys?” he asked. His eyes flickered to Mercedes, then to Brittany. Brittany nodded with a Cheshire grin, which evoked a bright smile to appear on Sam’s face. He sat down next to Brittany. “Can I have one?” Brittany got out a single flake from the packet of crisps and gave it to Sam. “Thanks.” Their eyes locked for a few seconds.

Mercedes was glaring at their interaction.

***

“This doesn’t sit right with me,” Blaine said worriedly, pacing around the room while Kurt sat on his bed, watching him.

“How?” Kurt enquired.

“Electrical faults as bad as these ones, especially nowadays with all kinds of safety precautions embedded in these devices, are extremely rare. How come the PlayStation was fine when the guys were playing it, and it exploded only a few hours later? Something’s going on here,” Blaine continued. Kurt met Blaine’s eyes with a contemplative look.

“Maybe the PlayStation was just on for too long. It overheated or something,” Kurt said as an attempt to assuage Blaine’s anxiety. It worked, as Blaine stopped his movements. He sighed.

“Yeah, maybe. But I think we should still be cautious. For now, I’d say don’t go near wires that look hot.” Kurt chuckled.

“Blaine, you’re meant to be smart, how exactly can something look hot?” Blaine shot him an exasperated look. “I get what you mean, though,” Kurt said. “I will stay far away from them.”

“Just don’t want anything to happen to you, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Come here,” Kurt said, gesturing to himself. Blaine smiled.

***

Lunch was eaten in relative silence. No one really had the heart to say anything. Puck had suggested a barbecue for lunch, as an attempt to lighten up the mood, but no one wanted to be anywhere near fire, or anything mildly dangerous in general, after what had happened to Artie. Puck had sighed in resignation and just made baguettes for everyone to eat, paired up with either coke or orange juice.

Puck had to break the silence. This was not what he had in mind when he invited all these people here. But his mind drifted over to his failure of calling the authorities, so he thought that he should bring it up.

“Guys, anyone got a working phone?” Puck asked the group.

“My phone died yesterday, and I can’t find my charger,” Finn replied. A lot of people nodded, agreeing. They all had the same predicament. Puck contorted his face.

“Seriously guys? No one bothered packing a charger even though that’s literally a necessity?”

“No, I did pack a charger, I just can’t find it. It probably got lost on the way here, or just somewhere on the floor.”

“Oh, I have one, it’s just upstairs,” Brittany offered from the far end of the table. Everyone’s eyes shifted to her, who turned slightly nervous under the sudden attention. “You can borrow it, if you want.”

“Oh great, my phone really needs charging. It is an iPhone charger?” Finn asked. Brittany nodded. “Do you mind if borrow it now?” Brittany shook her head. Finn smiled, before getting up and making his way to the staircase.

“You good, Sam?” Quinn said. “You look kind of queasy.” Sam jolted and looked at Quinn.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just need a bit of water,” he gulped and hurriedly left the room. Everyone started to eat again, except this time with the faint buzz of chatter. Puck patted his back internally – this is just what he wanted, instead of the ominous mood that surrounded the table only moments before.

Santana stood up and left Quinn’s side, sitting down on the unoccupied seat next to Brittany.

“Britt –” Santana started, but Brittany turned her head and fixed Santana with a look so blank that made the brunette’s insides squirm.

“Don’t think that just because time passed I have forgiven you, Santana. My mental capacity is greater than that.” Brittany chided. Santana looked down in shame. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know Britt, and I’m so sorry. I’m just really worried about you,” Santana admitted. Brittany’s unwavering stare prompted Santana to elaborate. Santana swallowed, and went on. “It’s just that, you never played shooter games before, you don’t insult people, you disappear all the time, you just seem, off. Different. This isn’t you, Britt. No one seems to have noticed, and I’m so very worried because I love you, Brittany. I love you, Brittany, so much that it hurts when you look at me like that. Like you don’t love me, and –” Santana’s rambling faltered, as she didn’t really know how to finish. “You’re scaring me Brittany. What is going on?” She looked up nervously to see Brittany’s reaction. What Brittany does was not what Santana expected, though.

Brittany laughed. So loudly that she got the attention of the peers around her. It wasn’t anything like her usual laugh, however.

“You through yet?” Brittany said, still sniggering. Without waiting for Santana to respond, she continued. “First thing, I don’t really think it is your place to worry about where I am all the time. It makes you clingy, overprotective and controlling and I don’t like that. However, if you must know, before lunch I was talking with Mike, Tina and Mercedes while you were screaming upstairs banging on a door for whatever reason I don’t even want to know.” Santana blanched. “Second thing, I insult people because you insult people. Easy as that. Guess you only have yourself to blame, right?” Brittany smiled icily. “Thing number three, why do I play shooter games? The only answer I have to that is, why not? You don’t have the right to judge what I like. Maybe I like shooter games. Maybe not everything about me is sunshine and rainbows, which you seem so adamant to want to assume about me. Number four, if you think for a moment that I don’t love you, I don’t even know what I should do. Actually, what do you want me to do? Give you a lovestruck look every time I see you? Stick with you like a puppy every moment of every day? You can’t just insult me with that word and expect me to still be trailing behind your footsteps like nothing happened. Because, Santana, something has happened. Your failure to realise that, to me, makes you a bit of a bad girlfriend, no? Just give me space when I need it. You know what? You get the honour of sleeping with Quinn today. That must be great, because you spend your time with Quinn all the time anyway, right?” Brittany inhaled and licked her lips. “So, you heard everything I said? That clear, Santana?” Brittany tilted her head slightly, staring at Santana’s now glazed eyes. “Good.” Brittany’s lips curved up into a grin again. With that, she picked up her baguette and started eating again.

Santana desperately wiped at her eyes to keep the tears at bay. But she couldn’t hold it in. Choking back a sob, she hastily got up and ran from the room.

The expressions around the room were mixed. Puck’s showed surprise. Mike and Quinn’s were of anxiety, both chewing their lips. Sam’s was of awe.

“You destroyed her, Brittany,” Sam gasped. He seemed to have returned sometime during Santana’s speech. However, Brittany didn’t seem to hear it. She continued to eat her baguette calmly, occasionally taking a sip of orange juice.

Finn stumbled back into the room. “I can’t find it, Brittany.”

“No? Strange,” Brittany frowned. Quinn caught Sam’s guilty expression.

“And why was Santana crying?” Finn asked. “She’s not drunk, right?”

Brittany looked a little sad for the first time. “No. Just Santana being herself.”

“Brittany killed her,” Mercedes said for the first time in this meal. All eyes turned to her. Brittany frowned at that statement. “Figuratively,” she added. Finn nodded.

From then onwards, lunch was eaten in silence again. Quinn kept looking at Brittany, who was still eating her baguette, but she was staring at her knees. She decided that she would deal with Santana first.

***

“I don’t understand,” Santana cried, wiping at her now puffy eyes. “What is going on with her? Why does she hate me so much?”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Quinn said soothingly, gently rubbing at Santana’s back while she blew her nose with tissues. “She’s just really angry.”

“She’s really scary,” Santana’s voice shook with emotion. “I don’t know what happened to her. I’m so scared of her. What if Artie didn’t die of an accident? What if Brittany killed him? That makes sense!” Santana exclaimed. “Artie insulted her, she killed him as revenge! Is that why she’s acting so weird? Is that why –” Santana was stopped by stinging pain on her left cheek.

Quinn had slapped her as hard as she could.

“What the fuck happened to you, you idiot, for accusing your _girlfriend_ of such a thing? You actually think that Brittany is capable of such a thing?” Quinn yelled. Santana merely sobbed harder, now in absolute guilt and humiliation. To be honest, Quinn wanted to slap Santana again: what she said was absolutely unacceptable. But she won’t do that, that would hurt Santana even more. “You seemed to have forgotten what Brittany is inside – sweet, caring, funny. But, hey, maybe she’s just another body to keep you warm?” Quinn scoffed, standing up to leave. Santana grabbed her arm with her hand.

“No, please, Quinn,” Santana whimpered. “I wasn’t in my right mind. I’ll shut up now. Please stay,” Quinn looked down at Santana’s form. She looked kind of pathetic, Quinn had to admit. She sighed, and sat back down next to Santana, embracing her in a tight hug while Santana cried her eyes out on Quinn’s shoulder.

“What do I do? What can I do?” Santana asked desperately.

“Just give her space. She’ll come around,” Quinn said into Santana’s ear.

Unbeknownst to the two girls, Brittany was eavesdropping behind the door. She wiped a tear from her wet cheeks and went back downstairs.

***

Brittany danced her heart out that afternoon in the empty room where there was a stereo. Mike heard the music, and decided to figure out what was going on. He walked into the room, seeing Brittany in her element. He waited until she finished, then made his presence known.

“Brittany don’t kill me for this, but I’m also kind of worried about you,” Mike approached tentatively. Brittany looked at him with teary eyes.

“Yeah, I understand,” she sighed.

“Is something on your mind? You don’t seem yourself lately.” Mike said.

“I know,” a tear fell onto Brittany’s cheek. “I’m just really stressed.”

“Why?” Mike asked quietly.

“I’m not going to get through senior year,” Brittany sobbed. “I don’t get above Ds in my papers, how am I going to graduate? Everyone will just move on to college, away from Ohio when I’m just going to be stuck here. I’m going to have to repeat senior year, until I pass, which is probably never, as I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that, Britt.” Mike chastised. “If you are struggling in any way, we are here to help you. I’ll help you. Santana will help too. We’ll make sure you pass.”

The mention of Santana’s name made Brittany cry a little bit more.

“I feel so bad,” Brittany whimpered. “Santana didn’t deserve any of that. She was just worried.”

“Yeah,” Mike exhaled. “Well, all of us came here to have fun, right? So, let go of your stress for now, and enjoy the time you’re here, okay?”

“How?”

“Well, since you like dancing, and I also like dancing… you get where I’m going here?”

“I do,” Brittany smiled through her tears. “That sounds like a great idea. Thank you, Mike.”

“No worries.”

***

“Over here we have spaghetti carbonara,” Quinn smiled proudly, as she put a plate on top of the dining table. “I have put in parmesan cheese, eggs and a bit of pepper for the aroma of this dish. There is also tomato sauce, if you want more you can get more from the back, handmade by me,” Quinn gestured to herself smugly. “Of course, we also have cut strips of bacon in here, as well as some pancetta, which is primarily pork belly.”

“Um, isn’t pancetta also bacon?” Tina asked.

“As for my dish number two,” Quinn whipped out another plate and set it on top of the dining table as well. “This is a great one. We have what I like to call ‘asparagus soldiers’. This is basically a buffed version of asparagus, we have some smoked bacon wrapped around it to give the asparagus, one of your five a day, a less dull taste. On the side here we have boiled egg,” she pointed to an egg that was standing on top of an egg cup. “As well as a little bit of seasoned rice to act as the carbohydrate component of the meal, so that you guys all get energy. As for drinks, I have created what I call the ‘Fabray Craze’, it is a mixture of water, lemon, coke, and a little bit of orange juice to give it a bit more bite,” a few people cringed, now knowing what the murky dark orange liquid sitting on top of the table contained. “And for dessert, I didn’t actually have any time left so we’ll settle for ice cream.” Quinn finished. The people in her audience didn’t say anything for a short while; they exchanged looks from each other.

“Um, wow Quinn,” Puck said in awe. “That is amazing. I didn’t know you could cook that well.” Quinn simply grinned from ear to ear in pride. “But, um, you realise that we have a limited supply of bacon, right? I mean, every dish is bacon themed.”

“Well, when we run out of bacon, we’ll just get more.” Quinn replied.

“Um, the nearest store is like at least five miles away. That’s why I packed so many things to bring here.” Puck said. Quinn placed a hand over her mouth.

“Oh dear. Well, I cooked it already, so might as well eat it right?” Quinn perked up. “Everyone take your seats; I’ll get you your drinks now.”

Once the Fabray Craze was served to everyone in the room, Quinn wasted no time in digging into her meal, often making rather indecent moans every so often as she ate.

“Um, is this edible?” Brittany said to Mike, who was sitting next to her, gesturing to the murky drink in front of her. Mike shrugged.

“Seems to be. I’m not going to judge until I try it.” Mike winced as he picked up the cup containing the Fabray Craze, but he took a sip, nonetheless. His wince quickly dissipated. “Hmm, it’s actually pretty nice. Try it,”

Brittany took a sip. “Not bad,” she smiled. “Quinn’s got talent.”

“Who would’ve guessed, huh?” Mike chuckled, taking a large gulp from his cup.

Santana’s throat felt really dry. Her eyes hurt; she was pretty sure that it was swollen. Actually, she was pretty sure that it was as she couldn’t really see as clearly anymore. She must look terrible. She sighed.

Looking around the table from her spot near the corner, she realised that her mood is getting more and more dispirited with every person she looked at. Quinn, who was sitting next to her, was happily munching on her meal. Puck was talking animatedly with Finn, Sam listening intently. Tina was talking with Rachel and Mercedes. Kurt and Blaine were in their own little bubble, feeding each other bits of ‘asparagus soldiers’. She really wished that she was with Brittany. Talking of her, she saw Brittany happily chatting with Mike. Her heart felt a painful pang; it hurt her feelings to know that she was not the one making Brittany laugh like that. For that, she was envious of Mike. She sighed and tried to keep her tears out. She was pretty sure she had no tears left to cry, though. Brittany turned her head and spotted Santana staring at them. Santana instantly averted her gaze: she didn’t want to look at Brittany’s eyes, filled with hollowness, emptiness instead of the usual love that she sees in those beautiful, cerulean orbs. Santana felt sick. Excusing herself from the table, she hurriedly got up and left the room, after convincing Quinn to stay, as she could see how much Quinn was enjoying her meal and her drink.

Brittany watched her leave. Brittany saw how Mercedes looked worried and got up after her, disappearing at the door.

***

“Thank you for the meal, Quinn,” Sam smiled as he deposited his empty plate by the sink.

“Yeah, at first I was quite sceptical of the so-called Fabray Craze, but after a few tastes I realised that it had quite the flavour. A little eccentric, but still amazing,” Rachel gushed.

“Feel free to cook for us anytime,” Puck winked.

Quinn could hardly contain her giddiness as her cooking got such positive reception. Growing up, she had always been insecure of her cooking, as her parents hated bacon. Which is why there was always so little of that around the house, so Quinn didn’t really have much to work with. Maybe the reason why she liked bacon so much is because it was so scarce.

As Kurt and Blaine volunteered and got to wash the dishes, Puck turned to the group. “So, what will we do this evening?”

For once the group was at a loss. But after a while, seeing nobody made a suggestion, Brittany decided to make hers.

“We could watch a movie,” Brittany proposed. Puck looked at her with a frown.

“But we don’t have internet, Brittany.” Puck said.

“I know,” Brittany shrugged. “But I have brought some DVDs here from home.”

The group seemed to approve of this request, so Puck told Brittany to get the DVDs. Brittany nodded and left.

Finn turned to Rachel.

“I don’t feel so well, Rach.”

“You never do, Finn. Could be all the food you ate. Maybe get some rest?” Rachel replied. Finn smiled weakly, before leaving the room and going up the stairs.

***

Brittany had brought a collection of Disney movies for everyone to choose from. Not everyone was particularly excited at the prospect of watching children’s films, but under some convincing the group eventually agreed. They ended up watching Bambi.

The movie wasn’t particularly long, so they would probably watch another one of Brittany’s movies. Brittany was pretty sure that when Bambi’s mum died, some boys let out choked sobs, tears leaking out of their eyes. Brittany couldn’t be sure though, for they were disguised in the darkness. However, it still made Brittany proud that a film from seventy years ago could still entertain a group of teens.

They watched WALL-E after finishing Bambi. Brittany was glad that everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen as the movie played. See? People should not be so quick to judge Disney films.

Judging by the yawning that was going around the room by now, Puck decided to call it a night. Brittany retrieved the DVDs and made her way upstairs with Quinn, feeling a sense of pride in her taste.

***

When Brittany walked into her room, she had expected to see Santana in their bed, already sleeping, for she disappeared in the middle of dinner and didn’t return for the movie night they had. However, she saw Santana curled up on the floor, shivering, head against the hard wooden floor. She didn’t even have a blanket to cover herself with. Brittany looked at Quinn in confusion.

“You did tell her to sleep next to me,” Quinn said sadly. “Since my sleeping bag is a single, guess she took it as a sign to sleep on the floor there.” Everything came rushing back to Brittany.

“Oh god,” she gasped. She couldn’t believe that she had forgotten the fight she had gotten in with Santana. Actually, it was more like Brittany ruthlessly attacking Santana and kicking her while she was down. So, Brittany was determined to make things right with her again. She crouched down by Santana’s body and gently shook her shoulders. This was when she realised that Santana was silently crying in her sleep. Heart breaking at the sight and internally scolding herself for her heartlessness, she shook Santana harder to wake her up.

When confused, teary brown eyes finally opened it took Santana a few seconds to get her bearings. She met Brittany’s eyes. Then it all came crashing down on her.

“Britt,” she wheezed, sobbing loudly. “Britt, please don’t hate me. I didn’t mean what I said, I was scared! Britt, you are so smart! You’re definitely the smarter one out of the two of us! Oh god, please don’t tell me I’ve ruined what’s between us, Britt, please! Don’t break up with me, give me another cha–” Santana’s rambling was cut off by Brittany’s finger on her lips.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Brittany whispered softly. “Sleeping on the floor must be very uncomfortable,” Santana nodded vaguely. When Santana was finally resting in bed underneath the covers, Brittany slipped in beside her. “Look, Santana, I’ve got to tell you something.”

This alarmed the brunette. “No please, Britt! I promise I’ll be a better girlfriend! I won’t be so clingy, I’ll let you be! Please I will try my best –” she hiccupped.

“I’m really sorry, Santana.”

Santana’s sobs subsided temporarily. “Huh?”

“I’m really sorry for the way I acted today, I really hurt your feelings and that’s not okay. Just please believe me when I say that I didn’t mean it. I think that you are the best girlfriend I can ever hope for, and more. I hope that you forgive me,” Brittany said.

“No, Brittany, don’t be sorry,” Santana replied. “I deserved every word of it,” she mumbled, looking away from Brittany’s eyes.

“No Santana, you didn’t. I know that you were just looking out for me back in the morning. I just overreacted. I only lashed out because I’ve been really stressed lately,” Brittany admitted.

“Why? What can I do?” Santana asked instantly.

“I fear I won’t get through senior year. I don’t think my grades are good enough.” Brittany muttered.

“No, Brittany, you don’t get to say that about yourself. Not now, not ever. If you ever need help, I’m here, okay? I’m here for you, Brittany, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be by your side every step of the way until we throw our hats on graduation day, okay?”

Brittany gave a small smile. “That’s what Mike told me,”

“It’s true, Britt, okay? I promise that from now on, I’ll be a better girlfriend to you,” Santana said earnestly.

“I promise I won’t lash out and take my stress on you again, San.”

Santana wiped away her tears with her sleeve. “So, are we good?”

Brittany leaned forward slightly, so that their foreheads were nearly touching, breathing into each other’s faces. “We’re good.” Santana let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Can I kiss you?” Santana requested nervously, eyes darting from Brittany’s eyes to her lips repeatedly. Brittany smiled.

“That’s a silly question, San. Since when did you have to ask?” With that, she leaned in, and their lips locked together. They both smiled into the kiss when they felt their tongues finally caress each other, and soon, Brittany was pulling at the bottom of Santana’s shirt.

“What about Quinn?” Santana asked into Brittany’s mouth, breathless.

“She’s asleep,” Brittany moaned. Santana let her take her shirt off, and soon after Brittany’s shirt left her body as well.

Neither of them cared how loud they were being.

~

Initially, I was intending to kill with the knife that I stole. Ups the fear factor, you know? Makes the people more scared. Also, it is a hell of a lot more thrilling. Who wants some silly old murder that has no action?

However, I got myself into a little bit of an… ah… situation today.

It’s fine though. I’ll just use the knife tomorrow.

For now, I’ll settle for one of the oldest tricks in the book: poison.

Now, poison isn’t very exciting. Not for me, at least. It’s kind of slow, and people normally just die in their sleep. I don’t even get to witness their deaths.

So, why not shake it up a little bit?

The Fabray Craze is perfect. Spike one drink, kill one person. There is a problem though: don’t know who dies. Except that isn’t really a problem, now I think about it again. That’s the point of this Russian roulette drink game, right? But… what if I killed someone that I really liked? Well, that would suck, but I intend to kill all of them anyway. So, order, in a way, doesn’t matter all that much. Although I do like a little control over my homicides. This will probably be the last murder that I will do that is not under my complete control.

This plan is a little flawed. What if they don’t die from the poison?

Well, in that case, no harm done. I’ll just make sure one dies tomorrow. Everyone survives an extra day. Really isn’t that big of a deal.

So, who will perish tomorrow?

Wait… It could be me, come to think of it. I also got a drink at random. But that’s the main thrill. If it is me that perishes, well, the others are lucky, aren’t they?

But I won’t worry about that now. The uncertainty is what’s making me so excited that I can barely sleep.

But sleep does take me away eventually. Just like death will take me away. Sooner or later.


	5. Day 4

Sam’s back hurt. A lot. He just had a dream. He could only remember parts of it, blurry parts, but he could recall it being a weird dream, though a pretty good one. He hadn’t had a dream in a long time, which is why it was kind of surprising for him when he woke up realising that he dreamt that night. In his dream, he saw flashes of blonde hair. His family? He really missed them; his mother fell victim to cancer five years ago, which was when his family fell apart. His father fell in a downward spiral ever since, and Sam was forced to protect his two younger siblings from nights where his father, Dwight, would stumble home clutching a half-finished bottle of champagne, crash on the sofa and pass out in a drunken haze. Sam would try to ignore the pungent smell that would invade his nostrils, and read bedtime stories to his siblings, Stevie and Stacy, tucking them into bed, while trying not to cry at what his idealistic, happy family had succumbed to due to one tragic event.

The turning point was when his father hit him for the first time. The bruises weren’t that hard to hide: only girls wear makeup anyway, so no one would suspect a thing. He would keep a brave face for his siblings, keep them in la-la land while he juggled three jobs trying to keep his family afloat.

Sometimes he really wished that his mother had fought harder. He didn’t resent her for succumbing to cancer, per se, but this whole thing could’ve been avoided. If only she continued to keep going to her biyearly check-ups, since her family history had cases of cancer a few times.

Very recently, he found out that his family was moving to Kentucky. No warning. It’s not like his father had been doing anything. One day, Dwight came home and told them that they were leaving for Kentucky at the end of the summer, because apparently home reminded him too much of Mum. They would be spending unnecessary money, his hard-earned money, for a stupid move. To say he was annoyed would be an understatement.

He didn’t miss his family, actually. He saw them nearly every day. He missed what his family used to be. Happy. Carefree. Innocent.

The only thing that was keeping him from depression was his friends. Glee club. He loved them to death. With them, he could forget his family issues and pretend that life was normal.

Except life was not normal. It hadn’t been for a while.

Oh, come on, cheer up. It’s not like Mercedes rejected you, right?

She did.

What was the point?

Sam sighed and flipped onto his right side. The sky was dark; it was raining heavily. Guess no football for them today, then.

He didn’t remember who the blonde hair belonged to. It could’ve been his mum. Or, it could’ve been… Brittany.

Brittany.

Brittany is like the light, complemented by Santana, the shade. Brittany is like everything good in this miserable world. She is the symbol of what his family used to be. Granted, she hasn’t been exactly herself the past few days, but most of the time, she is a great girl.

However, she was being tainted by Santana. Corrupted. This made Sam twitch uncomfortably in his bed, heart burning with an unfamiliar feeling. He instantly chastised himself. He had no right to feel jealous. He had no claim to the blonde.

Truth is, he has had a crush on her ever since he transferred. He didn’t admit his attraction to her to himself for a long time, because there would’ve been consequences: she was taken. He didn’t stand a chance at all. Santana was her soulmate. Brittany was Santana’s soulmate. For whatever reason. Unless he wanted a death wish, he would not admit his crush to anyone else other than himself. There wouldn’t be a point, anyway.

Is there a point in anything anymore?

He was failing school because he has no time to study, working night shifts four nights out of five on weekdays. On the weekends he had to work in the afternoon for minimum wage and in the evenings, also for minimum wage. He was exhausted. Constantly sleep deprived. However, even if he wasn’t in this family predicament he would probably struggle in school anyway. He was not the brightest tool in the shed academically, after all.

This is also one of the reasons why he felt a connection to Brittany. Seemingly unrequited unfortunately, but still a connection. She would understand his struggles. She would relate. If he had to repeat his senior year, maybe Brittany would join him. They could repeat senior year together, while Santana moves away. Maybe then he would have a chance.

Nah, who is he kidding, he doesn’t have a chance. He never will.

Huffing, Sam flipped again. A piercing scream shook him out of his reverie.

“Again?” he mumbled glumly before climbing out of bed. He took a sip from his unfinished Fabray Craze from last night and left the room, putting on a jacket on the way.

***

Santana sat up from her bed with a yawn and a scowl. Seriously? She was being woken up by another scream, that sounded eerily like the one she woke up to the day before. It was probably Rachel again, having another one of her conceited nightmares.

Brittany seemed to have the same thoughts.

“Ugh, not again,” the blonde muttered, squeezing her eyes tighter, snuggling into Santana’s bosom. She seemed to be content there, so Santana let her be, holding her close and closing her eyes as well.

Today, Quinn was awake before the two girls on the bed. Truth be told, she didn’t really sleep at all that much that night. It was kind of difficult with all kinds of sounds keeping her up. At first, Rachel’s scream didn’t alarm her that much: after all, Rachel was screaming yesterday, and the “investigation” had ended up being a huge waste of time.

But when the second scream came, much more desperate and scarier than the first one, Quinn decided that she would put a stop to it. She angrily got up to her feet and stalked out of the room. Her footsteps faltered, however, as she got close enough to make out what was being said through the screams. What she heard made her blood run cold.

“NO!” Quinn was almost certain that it was Rachel. “FINN! HELP! SOMEONE GET HELP! HE’S NOT BREATHING!”

Quinn did the opposite of help. She ran back towards her own room and closed the door behind her. Was her theory of a serial killer becoming true? If yes, who would do such a thing? There was no one else here. And why? Quinn suddenly felt queasy. When was she going to fall victim? Regaining the use of her legs, she rushed to Brittany and Santana, who were clutched in each other’s grasps, evidently trying very hard to go back to sleep. Slapping their cheeks one after another, Quinn shouted into their faces, “I think Finn died!”

They both stirred, and as soon as Santana’s eyes were open, the brunette rolled her eyes.

“What did I tell you about freaking out for no reason, Quinn?” Santana demanded.

“No! I’m serious S! Rachel’s freaking out down there, I went to check, and I heard what she’s saying. She’s calling for help! This isn’t like the nightmare fiasco we had yesterday!” Quinn whined frantically. Brittany nudged Santana.

“I really think we should check it out, S.” she whispered. Santana sighed.

“Okay,” she said pointedly. “But if this is another hoax, Quinn, I swear to god I will choke you so hard your lungs come out of your mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that,” Quinn frowned. “But thanks for the image,” Quinn started to make her way to the door. Brittany and Santana followed her after stretching their limbs briefly to relieve their slightly aching muscles.

***

“He’s not waking up!” Rachel sobbed as Sam walked into the room. “I tried to wake him up but he’s not waking up!”

“Okay, Rachel I got that the first time,” Sam deadpanned as he bent down to Finn’s body on the bed. He touched his neck to feel for a pulse, however, he couldn’t manage to find one.

“He’s not breathing either, I don’t know CPR, oh my god,” Rachel continued to hyperventilate.

“Rach, I don’t think CPR is going to save him. He is long gone,” Sam commented, much to the dismay of the short brunette in front of him.

“What can we do? He can’t be gone! There’s always a way!” Rachel persisted. Sam opened his mouth to argue Rachel’s point before the door opened again to reveal the three cheerleaders.

“Why does it sound like someone has died?” Santana demanded. She seemed to be in a pretty bad mood. Sam could relate, somewhat. They got woken up by the same thing for two days in a row now. Plus, none of them had coffee yet. And Santana is not really a morning person, so it was understandable that she was a bit cranky.

“Because someone did die,” Sam replied grimly, gesturing to Finn’s corpse lying motionless on the bed. It wasn’t that gnarly a sight, really, for Finn simply looked like he was sleeping peacefully. But upon closer inspection, he could see that Finn’s skin was paler and bluer than usual.

Quinn stepped forward and studied Finn’s body. With trembling fingers, she felt for a pulse. A few seconds later she turned deathly pale and dashed right out of the room.

Santana sighed. “Two deaths in two days? This can’t be a coincidence.” Sam nodded.

“No,” Sam agreed. “If I had to guess, this is… murder.”

“How can you just stay so calm about this?” Rachel screamed at them, still in tears. “Do none of you care? How are you talking about murder as if you’re talking about your shopping list?”

“Okay Rachel, no one makes shopping lists anymore,” Santana remarked in a snarky manner, which was quickly followed up by Sam.

“Rachel, it isn’t going to help if we all freak out like you are here. We got a situation here, we are dealing with it our way,” Sam snapped. Rachel just continued to cry loudly at the corner of the room as Sam contemplated what to do. Just then, Puck walked into the room.

“What is going on? What’s all this noise?” Puck asked them. Sam simply pointed at Finn. “Oh, fuck. What happened to him?”

“Apparently, he just died in his sleep. I don’t know why yet,” Sam replied. Puck scowled.

“All right, help me carry him out and we’ll figure out what happened to him,” Puck said, and soon, with Puck grabbing Finn’s legs and Sam holding Finn’s shoulders, they carried him out of the room and down the stairs.

“Do they not even care? Finn just died and they’re acting like that!” Rachel seethed at Santana, who quickly realised that she was the only person in the room with Rachel now.

“They’re just being mature,” Santana barked. “Like Sam said, us freaking out isn’t going to help anything.” With that, she left the room, the disappearance of Brittany at the back of her mind.

***

Quinn dashed into the toilet, suddenly feeling very sick. She gulped a few times, before her stomach decided to empty its contents. Her throat burned as she retched into the toilet for a prolonged amount of time. It was torture. Blinking the stinging tears out of her eyes, she took deep breaths before her stomach heaved and she was vomiting again. This time, however, a hand was holding her hair back. At that moment, Quinn didn’t care who it was, as she was riddled with nausea, but when the wave of vomit finally passed, she turned her head to see who it was.

“You feeling a bit better now?” Brittany asked gently, gingerly stroking Quinn’s back with her right hand.

“No,” Quinn gulped.

“Wanna talk about it?” Brittany said. Quinn nodded. “Okay, let’s just go to our room and I’ll get you some water. You still feeling sick?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’m going to throw up anymore,” Quinn rasped.

“Good.” Brittany offered a comforting smile, then lifted Quinn up by her armpits and guided her to their room, where the taller blonde set Quinn down on her and Santana’s bed.

“I’ll be right back,” Brittany promised before nimbly darting out of the room. In the silence of the bedroom, Quinn took deep breaths to try and quell her nausea. When it was becoming borderline manageable, Quinn started to look around. Something on Brittany’s bedside table caught her eye. It was an empty pill bottle. Quinn frowned at this object, picking it up and giving it a closer look. The label read… _Quetiapine_. Quinn didn’t know what that was, but before she could give it much more thought Brittany came back into the room.

“I got you your water,” Brittany chirped, handing Quinn a cup of water. Quinn took it from her hands and sipped on it gratefully. “So,” Brittany drawled out the word. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s becoming true,” Quinn said, her voice an octave lower than usual as her throat was still burning. Brittany furrowed her brows a little bit, looking confused.

“What’s becoming true?”

“I told Santana a few days ago that this seemed like something out of a horror movie,” Quinn wheezed. “Someone is out to get us.”

Brittany looked on thoughtfully. “But who would? There’s no one but us here. We’re all friends, right? Who would have motive?”

“I don’t know, Brittany. I’m scared for my life here,” Quinn admitted.

“Maybe all of this was just a huge coincidence. I mean, anything could’ve killed Finn, right? Maybe he just had a heart attack. Artie, he was just unfortunate. His hands were probably wet or something,” Brittany suggested. Quinn shook her head.

“No, Britt. I admire how you are looking at this optimistically, but I have a really bad feeling about this. The odds of one person dying of an accident is very low in itself, but two people? Practically impossible.” Quinn said.

“Not impossible, though.” Brittany replied. “We could just be very unlucky, Quinn. We don’t anything for sure yet. We’ll just be careful, as long as we stick together, whoever is out there, if there even is someone, can’t get us, okay?” Quinn nodded shakily. “You wanna get breakfast now?” Brittany stood up.

“Wait, Brittany, what is this?” Quinn held up the empty pill bottle. Brittany looked down and sighed.

“Oh, um, it’s my medication. I realised I didn’t bring the pack that I had at home to this trip, and I finished my last ones in my portable pack on the day we came here. I was suffering from withdrawal a few days ago, and that along with my stress I kind of lost control there. Yesterday was the worst,” Brittany’s eyes glazed again as she remembered what happened the day before. “You know what happened.”

“But what is this medicine for?” Quinn asked. Brittany bit her lip.

“I’m bipolar. Means I have crazy mood swings. I’d been taking them for a while now,” Brittany admitted. Quinn took a double-take.

“Why haven’t you told any of us?” Quinn asked. Brittany looked down.

“Truth is, I’m ashamed. I don’t want people thinking I’m any more wrong in the head, even though everyone seems to think that already. So I just kept it a secret. Though, it’s not so much of a secret anymore, is it?” Brittany gave a sad chuckle. Quinn’s expression softened.

“Don’t be ashamed of it, Britt. It’s part of who you are,”

“Yes, but it’s a defect. Don’t worry, Q. I’ll try my best to not have my episodes anymore. Come on, I’ll fix you some breakfast.” Brittany said.

“But, Britt, you and food don’t mix well together.” Brittany laughed softly.

“I’ll make you cereal, Quinn. What can go wrong?” Brittany responded, standing up again to leave. Quinn followed her out of the room.

Santana saw them walking out together, so she joined them at the staircase.

***

As Quinn was consuming her cereal that Brittany had made her without managing to burn down the house, more and more people joined her at the table. It seemed like they have found out about Finn’s death. Quinn knew instantly that this vacation had been a bust. Nothing would be the same ever again, with Artie and Finn’s deaths at the back of everyone’s heads. It’s almost like their ghosts were haunting them, trailing them everywhere after their wake. Santana plopped down next to Quinn, Brittany by her heels, who sat down opposite them.

“Everyone is thinking it’s murder,” Santana said, nicking a spoonful from Quinn’s cereal. “I mean, I kind of agree, as you don’t really get two deaths in two nights, do you? You know what killed Finn?”

Quinn shook her head. She felt an overwhelming sadness at the death of her ex-boyfriend. He didn’t deserve it at all, murder or not. He was dorky, funny, and most of all, kind. There may have still been the remnants of Quinn’s long lost feelings for the tall, uncoordinated man, which is probably why Quinn felt sadder at Finn’s death than Artie’s, even though Finn’s was peaceful whereas Artie’s was rather scary to think about.

Puck stormed into the room. He looked mildly angry, if him slamming his fists on the table was any indication. “Okay people, ‘meeting’ in progress. As you guys already know, we have lost a dear friend last night through unnatural causes. Rachel had told me that Finn wasn’t feeling well last night, and she sent her to bed early.”

“It’s true,” Rachel sobbed, cutting in. “He told me he wasn’t feeling well, and I didn’t think much of it, as he sometimes eats too much and gets sick. If only I took care of him that night before he fell asleep, he could be sitting with us right now…” Rachel trailed off, weeping hysterically, albeit her trying very hard to keep the volume down.

“Anyone know what could’ve caused Finn’s death?” Puck addressed the table.

No answer from anyone.

“Well, we know it’s not of old age,” Puck growled at the table. “Answer me!” he suddenly bellowed, making the table jump. “I don’t care if you don’t know for sure. Just tell me what could’ve killed him!”

“Poison,” Mike said quietly. All heads turned towards him. “I’m pretty sure of it, it makes sense. How else would Finn die in his sleep? It’s not like he had a heart attack or anything,” Mike shrugged. “He’s a healthy dude. We were literally playing football together a few days ago, he was perfectly fine.”

“So, it’s… murder?” Tina gasped from her seat next to Mike. At the mention of the word ‘murder’, thunder clapped, making the light go out for a split second. “For sure?”

“Almost certain,” Mike said gravely. The table bristled at that.

“Well, we have made progress,” Puck snarled uncharacteristically. He must’ve been very angry: this was not what he planned at all when he invited them all. “Finn was murdered. Thank you, Mike,” he acknowledged. “Question number two, who the fuck did it?”

“It could be a psychopath hiding in the closet,” Kurt suggested. Puck turned his stare towards him with a fiery gaze.

“I know for a _fact_ that there is no one else here. No one can break in, because no one can fucking get out!” he screamed.

“What do you mean, ‘no one can get out’?” Santana enquired.

“What I mean,” Puck growled, “is that the gate keys have been stolen, our car tyres have been slashed, our _house keys_ have been stolen as well, no one can get out unless you want to get out the windows, but those are bolted shut and those keys have been _stolen_ as well. We wanna call for help? We have no fucking service, we have no chargers, all our phones are dead. A knife is missing. We’re fucking trapped.”

“Wait, so one of us killed Finn?” Blaine gasped. The lack of an answer was answer enough. Murmurs erupted around the table.

“So, which one of you did it?” Puck demanded. Rachel stood up. Gasps erupted around the room. It was Rachel?

“You really think that one of us would just _own up_?” Rachel shouted through her tears. “No idiot would ever do that, Noah! You want to know one thing? I think Artie was killed too! And as a matter of fact, I think _you_ did it, Noah!”

Puck’s nostrils flared dangerously at Rachel’s accusation.

“Me? _Me?_ For what? I’ve done nothing but be a good host to all of you guys. I invite all of you here, pay for all your food, give you comfortable places to sleep,” Quinn wriggled her nose in disagreement, but it was noticed by no one. “Do the chores, and this is how you repay me? By accusing me of _murder_?” Puck seethed.

“That’s exactly my point,” Rachel snarled, voice unusually low pitched. “You bring us here to the middle of nowhere and trap us, then kill us one by one! You do all the chores. You cut the Internet wires, so we have no communication, rigged the PlayStation so Artie got fried. You make all the food. You poisoned Finn. It was you!” Rachel’s voice rose to a scream as she drew to a close.

“What the actual fuck, Rachel! Who the fuck do you think I am? You think I can live with the conscience of killing _two people_?” Puck roared. “What would even be my _motive_?”

“I don’t know?” Rachel spat back. “I’m sure you have one.”

“Answer is, I fucking _don’t_ ,” Puck growled darkly. “But Rachel, since you brought it up, let’s play the accusing game, shall we?” Puck laughed icily. “I accuse Quinn.”

Quinn turned pale as a ghost at that. “What? Excuse me?” she choked.

“Oh, come on. You have plenty of motive and opportunities. That “Fabray Craze” shit? You spiked Finn’s drink.” Puck sneered.

“No! I would never!” Quinn stuttered.

“Oh, you would ever!” Puck mocked. “Let’s face it. You haven’t gotten over Finn dumping your sweet ass for Rachel here. Oh, let me guess. Rachel is next to die for stealing your boyfriend? You act like you’re fucking Snow White, Queen of the World, but inside you’re just a deranged bitch!” Puck swayed a little bit with the exertion of his words, leaning towards Quinn, who was crying now.

“No! It wasn’t me! I swear on my life!” Quinn whimpered.

“Ooh, no need to swear on your life, it will be taken soon anyway, one way or another, don’t worry Quinnie. I swear to whatever god you worship, I will come for you when I prove you killed Finn and Artie!” Puck yelled maliciously.

“Okay Noah, that is way too far,” Santana warned. Puck turned towards her, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, then who you think killed them then?” he challenged, grinning. “Enlighten me.” Santana thought for a short moment.

“Sam.” Santana stated. Sam furrowed his brows slightly in surprise. “Let’s face it. You have been extremely creepy these days. You’re always around the corner. You also have a crush on my girl, Brittany.” A few people around the table widened their eyes, whereas Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You killed Artie because he insulted Brittany. You can’t wait to get your filthy hands on her when you kill me, can’t you?” Santana spat.

“Same could be said for you, Lopez,” Sam said, surprisingly calmly. “ _You_ killed Artie because he insulted ‘your girl’. _You_ killed Finn because you hate him. Oh, you do hate him,” He reinforced when Santana opened her mouth to argue. “You hate every fucking person in this room, except for Britt, and when you kill everyone, you and she are going to run away to Dreamland where you will live happily ever after!” Sam’s voice grew slightly in volume. “But, oh, I’m so not going to let that happen. You don’t stand a fucking chance against all of us. Also, so what if I crush on Brittany? I’m not crazy enough to kill Artie because of a one-sided crush!”

Santana was about to lash out, but Mercedes suddenly spoke.

“You want to know who I think it is?” her voice sounded strangely sinister. “Brittany.”

The table fell silent. Brittany stared back at her with doe eyes.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Mercedes scoffed with a small chuckle. “You have this image of being this innocent, carefree unicorn, don’t you? But you are a psychopath. You’re on medication, for Christ’s sake!”

Brittany’s jaw dropped. “How on earth do you even know that?” Brittany frowned.

“You have an empty bottle of quetiapine in your bedside table drawer. You wanna know what it’s for, guys? Schizophrenic people. Brittany is freaking _schizophrenic_. She killed Artie because she doesn’t like to be called stupid. News flash, people! Brittany isn’t stupid, she’s just completely unstable, deranged and crazy! It isn’t that unlikely that you killed Finn, is it, Britt-Britt?” Mercedes said in false sweetness. “After all, you have been around. Around!” she waved her hand in a circle to emphasize her point. “You disappear so much. Where to? Cutting wires. Stealing people’s chargers. Nicking keys. Your entire behaviour is off. But you know what? I won’t let you hurt anyone no more. You will be six feet under the ground as soon as I –”

“That’s enough Mercedes,” Mike quickly said, coming to Brittany’s rescue, who seemed so defeated to even fight back. “You wanna know something? You haven’t exactly been yourself either. Just now was a perfect indication. We don’t really see you much either, at least I don’t. It seemed like you have done some digging yourself, haven’t you? Why would you be in Brittany’s room, looking inside her drawers? It could as much be you as Brittany.” he stated, glaring at Mercedes.

“Guys, this is going out of hand!” Puck shouted, whose anger seemed to have dissipated and regained his usual cool demeanour. “We are going nowhere, in two ways. I’ll try to fix this. We are weaker when we are divided! No more of this accusation game! Yes, I know I started it, I apologise!” He quickly added, holding up his hands. “Whoever is out to get us cannot win. You hear that, murderer? You can’t beat all ten of us with one of you. Before you know it, I’ll find us a way to get us out of here. In fact, I’m going to do it right now,” he announced, leaving the room with brisk footsteps.

Rachel scoffed. “You got a problem, Rachel?” Santana growled.

“No. I’m fine and dandy.” Rachel smiled sweetly, before her smile dropped completely a split second after and she stalked out of the room.

Santana turned to Quinn, who had stopped crying by now, but still had wet cheeks, and Brittany, who was staring at her feet.

“Come on,” she sighed. “Let’s go up to our room.”

***

“Well, since it is most likely that there is a murderer in our midst, I’d say we stick together at all times. Whoever is out to get us can’t get us, if we are always together, right? If they attack us, it will be one against three. We’ll be alright.” Santana said.

Brittany nodded in agreement. “I think that’s a good idea, San. Oh, what about Mike? Can he join us?”

Santana thought for a moment. “I hate to tell you this, but I’d feel more comfortable if it was just the three of us. We’ve been together ever since we were little and Mike… I don’t know if I trust him that much. After all, it was him who suggested that Finn got poisoned.”

Brittany nodded sadly. “Yeah, San. I understand.” Santana breathed out in relief that Brittany let it go there. “How do you think we are going to get food though? I don’t really want to eat anything made by other people,” Brittany said, changing the subject.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Santana said thoughtfully. “I guess we could just make our own food for the three of us,” Brittany looked worried. “Hey, Britt, you trust us, right? We’re not going to poison you,”

“I know, San.” the blonde sighed. “It’s just, I kind of wished I knew how to cook now,”

“I don’t think we’ll be cooking anyway,” Santana replied. “We’ll probably just be making sandwiches and microwaving canned food.”

“That I can do,” Brittany smiled. Santana smiled back.

“Great! What do you think, Quinn?” Both eyes turned towards Quinn, who seemed to be staring into blank space. “Quinn?” Santana waved a hand in front of her face to catch her attention. Quinn jolted and looked at Santana. “Were you even listening to what we were saying?”

Quinn blushed. “No, sorry, what did you say?”

“We don’t eat anything made by people other than the three of us. We avoid people as much as we can, and we stick together,” Brittany summarised. Quinn nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” she agreed absently.

“So, it’s settled,” Santana stated. Then a thought popped up in her head. “Oh yeah Brittany, about the pills,” Brittany looked down in shame. “Are you really schizophrenic?”

Quinn suddenly jumped in for Brittany. “No, she’s bipolar. She’s been taking them for a while, but she ran out of them recently, so she was in withdrawal so that’s why she had been acting weird.”

“Wait,” Santana directed her attention back to Brittany. “Quinn knows about this? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m meant to be your girlfriend!” Santana half whined.

“Don’t be mad at me please, San. Quinn only found out this morning,” Brittany replied, still looking down. “It was meant to be a secret.”

“No, I’m not mad, Britt,” Santana placed a gentle finger on Brittany’s chin and tilted her head up. “I just wish you told me, that’s all. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it, you know? It’s not your fault.”

“That’s what Quinn said,” Brittany said.

“And she’s right,” Santana smiled. “So, how long have you been taking them?” Brittany sighed.

“About two years,” Brittany replied glumly.

“Wait, so without them, what would happen to you?” Santana asked, slightly fearfully.

“I don’t know, probably just what I was before I started taking them. I’ll have really bad mood swings,” Brittany answered.

“Okay, that’s fine. As long as your life isn’t in danger or something –”

“No no no,” Brittany said in quick succession. “Those pills just help me manage my emotions. Although I’m sorry in advance for moments when I will be absolutely intolerable. Like yesterday.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” Santana reassured, before looking around the room. “Hold up. Where did Quinn go?”

“Huh?” Brittany mumbled, rotating her head to where Quinn was standing. Quinn wasn’t there.

“Quinn’s horrible at following instructions,” Santana growled. “I literally told her to stay put and stick together and she just wanders off.”

“Should we go find her?” Brittany asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

***

Puck saw Quinn walking close to the lounge where he was, so he got up and walked towards her.

“Well, this vacation didn’t go as planned, did it?”

Quinn didn’t seem to sense his presence, so when Puck started talking, she jumped.

“Um… yeah, I guess,” she stuttered. Puck stepping in a bit closer.

“Do you mind if we sit down?” Puck requested, pointing to the chairs at the dining table.

“Okay,” Quinn gulped and followed Puck into the dining room, where they sat down opposite each other.

“Look, Quinn, I’m really sorry for what happened earlier today,” Puck said sincerely. Quinn merely looked confused.

“Huh?”

“Well, ah, I kind of accused you of killing the two boys.” Puck said, diffident. Quinn shaped her mouth in an ‘o’ shape in realisation.

“Oh, about that, well, it’s okay, I’ve forgotten it already,” Quinn tried to sound indifferent and happy. She wasn’t sure if that worked, however.

“It’s not okay, Quinn. I was just so angry and confused, so my mind just jumped to you because you cooked us our last meal. Which was delicious, by the way,” Puck added as a compliment, which Quinn responded with a beam. “But, uh, yeah, I didn’t really think that you poisoned the food or spiked Finn’s drink or anything. I know you, you would never do that.”

“I forgive you, Noah.” Quinn’s beam had faded by now, but she still maintained a small smile on her face. “Although I must admit it was a bit uncalled for,” Quinn added, voice dropping quieter to a mumble.

“I know, I wasn’t in my right mind. I kind of had to divert the attention away from me.” Puck said.

“What for?” Quinn asked.

“Well, um…” Puck faltered. “Just, away, you know? Well, Rachel was making some good points there and I can tell I was looking suspicious, especially with my outburst. But I promise you I didn’t kill those people,” Puck rushed to add. “I wouldn’t be able to live with it anyway.”

“Okay,” Quinn chuckled.

“So, we good?” Puck asked hesitantly.

“We were never bad in the first place,” Quinn replied, eliciting a smile from both of their faces to appear.

“Okay, that’s good,” Puck said, suddenly nervous. He held out his arms awkwardly. “A hug for old times’ sake?”

“We did much more than hug in the old times, but sure,” Quinn chuckled softly before leaning into Puck and holding him in an embrace. After a short while, they parted.

“I’ve gotta go back to Britt and San now, I’m sure they’re worried about me.”

“Yeah, sure, Q.” Puck said. “Just… take care, yeah?”

“I will,” Quinn smiled before leaving and heading towards the stairs.

Puck sighed and looked around the empty dining room. Seems like no one was downstairs anymore. Well, this was the first time Puck failed to host a vacation or party. Everyone will probably just stay in their rooms away from everyone else until he found a way for everyone to escape this house and go home. Feeling a spur of motivation, Puck made his way to the kitchen. He would drink some coke and get to work to find the glee club a way out.

As he sipped from the can, the drawer under the sink which used to contain the keys caught his eyes. It couldn’t hurt to look there again, right?

The sight that greeted Puck when he opened the drawer made his heart stop for a split second.

What on earth?

All the keys were back.

Picking them all up, he checked them. Front door, back door, windows. They were all there. Except, he noticed with a shudder, the keys to the front gate. No. It couldn’t be. That was the most important thing!

In desperation, Puck rummaged through the drawer, in the hopes of finding the key that would allow their escape. But Puck found nothing. Except for a slip of face-down paper that was at the back corner of the drawer. Curious, Puck picked it up and read what it said on the other side.

_FREE PASS_

It was handwritten, but Puck couldn’t tell by who. Also, what was that supposed to mean? Well, at least he has got the keys now. He’ll look for a way to escape outside when the still thundering rain dies down, evident by the sheets of water cascading outside the window.

Wait a second.

The knife holder on the windowsill now contained three knives.

Puck’s blood ran cold.

***

“What the fuck did you do to Quinn?” Santana snarled at Sam, who was wandering by the staircase outside the girls’ room.

“Huh?” Sam turned to look at Santana’s fiery eyes. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh really now,” Santana sneered. “Then why were you sneaking around the house, then? Why were you outside our room? You were eavesdropping, weren’t you.”

“I was not eavesdropping,” Sam said defiantly.

“You just came in and grabbed Quinn while I was talking to Britt, weren’t you? Can’t have one blonde, grab the other, right? What the fuck did you do to her?” Santana demanded.

“Like I said, I didn’t do anything,” Sam persisted. “Did you hear the door open, me miraculously grabbing Quinn without her making a sound, close the door, dispose of her and come back here like nothing happened?” he snapped.

“He doesn’t know,” Brittany said quietly. “Come on, let’s go find her.”

“I have my eyes on you,” Santana glared at Sam. “Even when you think I can’t see you, I have a psychic Mexican third eye. I know everything.” With that, Santana dragged Brittany away and down the stairs.

Sam was watching them. He sighed, and opened a door, slipping inside.

***

“Quinn!” Santana barked as they saw Quinn at the foot of the staircase. Brittany squealed and wrapped her arms around Quinn in a hug. “What did I say about sticking together? Where the hell were you?”

“Ah, I was, um –” Quinn stumbled.

“You know what? Forget it. Since we’re downstairs, we might as well go grab some food,” Santana cut in.

“Should we just stash up so it lasts us the day? We wouldn’t have to come here again,” Brittany suggested.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, Britt,” Santana agreed. Quinn perked up.

“Food raid?” Quinn said excitedly.

“Food raid,” Santana echoed.

***

An assortment of food was dumped onto the bed as Santana closed the door to the bedroom. There was a collection of bread, packed salad, instant noodles, some chocolate, the last of the kitchen’s bacon, tuna, beans, and more. The girls were about to just carry the food there, but thankfully Brittany reminded them that they would need cutlery to eat so that they didn’t their hands dirty all the time. Therefore, the girls made another trip downstairs (Santana didn’t let any one of them go anywhere alone) and in addition to grabbing knives, forks, and spoons, they also brought bowls (they thought that plates would be hard to eat from without a table), a few cups, and a kettle (Quinn said that it would be needed to eat hot food). Brittany also carried a whole 24-pack of bottled water, stacked on top of an unopened 24-pack of canned coke.

“We should probably eat a little less,” Santana suggested as she watched Quinn dive straight into the bacon. “You know, since we are trapped we should probably conserve so we don’t run out,”

Quinn stopped her attack on the strips of meat for a split second. “Why? It’s fine: the numbers in this house will just decrease so there will be less people to feed,” she stated, rather morbidly.

“That’s not the point,” Brittany frowned. “I agree with Santana. For all we know, this could be the only food we have left. The other people will think like us and stash themselves, and soon all the food would be gone. I propose we go get more.”

“Britt, while I agree with your point, I don’t think we should get more. I think we should split the food among all of us under some kind of agreement as a whole group, like it could be held in the dining room over dinner or something. The killer hasn’t directly killed us, right? As long as everyone is careful everyone should be fine.” Santana explained.

“Hmm, that’s true. We shouldn’t let the others starve to death anyway.”

“Fine,” Quinn huffed, putting down her strip of bacon. “We’ll have to convince the others to come for dinner, though.”

“Yep. Let’s go do that now.” Santana got to her feet, Brittany and Quinn trailing after her wake.

***

“Alright people, ‘meeting’ number two in session.” Puck slammed his fist on the table as if it was a gavel. “We have a proposition by these girls over here,” he gestured over to where the three girls were sitting. “Hear them out,” he turned to directly address them. “It better be good.”

Santana cleared her throat. “Seeing as no one trusts anyone’s food anymore, thanks to whoever poisoned Finn, it wouldn’t really make sense for the food in the pantry if no one trusts it, right? So, I think we should split them among us. Ration them. We would make our own meals. This way whoever is out to get us cannot tamper with our food, our meals. None of us would be poisoned ever again.”

“Hear, hear,” Brittany piped up as if it helped Santana’s argument.

“That’s your idea?” Puck asked, which evoked a nod from all three girls before him. “So, what are we going to do once all the food got distributed? Stay in our rooms for the rest of our time here? Become hermits that never come out? That is so not the point of this, that is so not the point of why we are here in the first place?” Puck raved.

“What do you expect us to do? This is a completely viable solution,” Quinn said. “We don’t trust each other anymore. I think that we should just split the food, so it doesn’t get tampered by anyone, and we could still spend time together at daytime.”

“A hell of a lot of food had been stolen at the pantry,” Puck rubbed his head. “I’m assuming it was you guys who already went over this plan before going through with us?”

“Yeah, but we could return it if we have to,” Brittany said.

“Yeah, return a whole _week’s_ worth of food!” Puck raged. “You stole like half of the total food we have! This is _exactly_ why I don’t want to do this. People just take too much food, and how do I know you haven’t already poisoned it, huh, Brittany? Just like you probably poisoned Finn?”

“We’ve already been over this,” Santana said evenly. “No more accusations. And, no, we did not steal _half_ of the food. Someone else already went through the pantry,” she glared at everyone at the table.

“Actually,” Blaine said in a small voice. “Kurt and I took some this morning.”

“So did Tina and I,” Mike sighed.

“Guilty,” Mercedes shrugged.

“Okay, these ‘rations’ are obviously not fair,” Puck said, having considerably calmed down after his second rather abrupt outburst of the day. “I request all of you to return it to the pantry. I will base it down to trust that you haven’t tampered with any of it, since you intend to eat it yourself.”

“What do we do at mealtimes, then?” Rachel spoke for the first time. She still seemed sulky and in a very bad mood.

“We make our own food. We don’t have to share mealtimes, if you don’t want to. I just don’t want all of us to be so divided,” Puck admitted. “So everyone please go to your rooms and put what you stole back into the pantry,” Puck implored.

Some people got up from the table and made their way towards the stairs. Puck turned to Brittany.

“Britt, I’m really sorry for accusing you. I do trust you. I wasn’t in my right mind, I’m sorry,” Puck apologised.

“No, it’s okay,” Brittany shrugged and gave a small smile. “I didn’t take it to heart.”

“Good,” Puck sighed in relief. “So, you girls mind returning the food?”

“Okay,” Quinn acquiesced. “But I’m keeping the bacon.”

“You can keep the bacon,” Puck relented.

***

“Britt, you seem to be in a very good mood today,” Santana noted with a chuckle, as she saw Brittany started to bounce on their bed much like the first day they were there. Quinn was sat on a chair by the side as she scowled at the empty space where the food used to be. The Unholy Trinity had gathered their food in two trips and returned them all into the pantry a while ago, along with their bowls and cutlery, as well as the kettle. Quinn had also finished the last strip of bacon in the pack, and Santana had confiscated the other two packs saying that she didn’t want to deal with grumpy Quinn when she was suffering from bacon withdrawal due to finishing the last of the bacon.

Brittany stopped her administrations on the bed and her smile dropped. “You want me to stop?”

“No!” Santana said quickly. “It’s good. Really good.”

“Okay,” Brittany smiled, though not as brightly before. “What do you want to do tonight?” Santana thought for a moment.

“I’ve just realised how dependent we’ve become to our phones,” Santana pointed out. “Without them, there really isn’t all that much to do. I guess we could have another one of those girls’ nights where we just talk, just like the ones we had back in the day with Quinn.” Quinn’s head turned at the mention of her name.

“What, like a sleepover?” Brittany asked.

“Yeah, exactly,” Santana replied.

“Except you actually get beds,” Quinn grumbled.

“Oh, Quinnie, you could always hop in with us,” Santana said, patting the bed beside her.

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

***

Santana couldn’t fall asleep. She wasn’t exactly sure why. She glanced to her right side. Brittany was sleeping peacefully. She placed a kiss on her forehead before resting her head back on the pillow. Her eyes darted towards the window. A crack in between the two pieces of the curtains allowed some dim moonlight to sneak its way into the room, illuminating a thin strip of the wooden floor. The light travelled from the window, to Santana and Brittany’s midsection, to Quinn’s face (rather unfortunately) to a spot in the far corner where the light reflected slightly.

Wait a second.

Reflected?

Curious, Santana got up and out of bed, out of Brittany’s grasp, and waded her way to the corner of the room where there seemed to be an object reflecting the moonlight.

Looking closer, Santana did a double-take when she realised what it was.

It was a knife.

Why was there a knife in their room, hidden at the corner of the room? What was Puck saying about there being a missing knife? Could it be Brittany who took it? Or Quinn? No, Santana would not jump to conclusions. She’ll question them about it tomorrow. Taking the knife, which looked clean thankfully, she placed it into the closet underneath some clothes, making sure that the clothes don’t rip, and made her way back to bed. She kissed Brittany, who was stirring slightly, on the forehead to lull her back to sleep.

Soon enough, Santana’s eyes felt heavy and began to close as well.

~

I don’t think that I have even been more excited than I am right now.

I am a little nervous, though. I have never done this before.

This would most likely be messy. Oh well. No one will see it coming. I will have time to get cleaned up before anyone notices a thing.

So, who has the honour of dying in my hands today?

I nominate Rachel. Yep, Rachel, you’re up.

Rachel Berry, the narcissist. Rachel Berry, the gobshite. Rachel Berry, the ‘diva’ of the year.

Just, ew. Go away.

With her gone, I guess we wouldn’t have to suffer waking up to her torturous screams in the morning. It actually benefits her in a way, she would no longer have to grieve for her late boyfriend. No more suffering for her. Yay.

I’m kind of doing the group a favour, here, really. No one would have to withstand her talking shit at an alarmingly fast rate anymore, deal with her psychotic dreams and fantasies. We don’t have to see her dressed like a hideous grandma anymore, see her stupid beak every day. I can go on and on.

Sometimes she could be nice, but those moments are far and few in between.

Hate is a strong word, but I’m afraid I have to use it here. I hate her.

Especially after what happened this morning, over breakfast. Idiot.

Anyway, how should I do it?

Rachel is a drama queen. Like, she dramatizes literally everything it annoys everyone.

So, why not let her go out with a bang?

Not literally. I don’t have the materials for that. But she will die a wonderful and dramatic death, you just wait and see.

You think that I’m weak for murdering with poison and electricity? Just watch me.

The butcher’s knife is well balanced in my hand. It’s kind of ironic, really. It’s used to cut meat, or pork. Rachel’s not allowed to eat pork: she’s Jewish. Okay I’m not anti-Semitic, relax.

Now, time to wait to strike.

No scratch that. I have no intention of waiting here all night, waiting for Rachel to come out, if she even comes out. This will be completely in my control.

Rachel’s door gets bigger and bigger as I walk closer and closer to it.

Mask on.

Come on, I don’t want her to scream my name as she dies. Actually, I don’t think that I will give her a chance to scream.

Rachel is sleeping.

Well, that can be easily fixed. Let’s make sure she is awake, shall we? Makes it a little more fun. After all, I haven’t actually seen the light leave someone’s eyes as death takes them away yet. All deaths I’ve witnessed were from a distance.

I’ve had enough of that, though. Time to get close.

Aw look at her, all peaceful. Not anymore, when I slap her with my free hand to get her to wake. She does.

This would be a moment where I grin creepily like I see in the movies, but she can’t see that through my mask. Oh well. I do it anyway, just because why not.

She obviously can’t see me very well. After all, it is dark, isn’t it? But, in moments like these, the darkness is your friend. Less fear for the victim.

Ahh, she draws up the blinds. The moonlight lightens up the room. Guess she can see me now, can’t she?

She opens her mouth to scream. Guess she saw the knife. And my mask. Well, I do look scary, because I look just like a cliché psychopath killer you see on telly.

I act fast, because I don’t want her to give me away, covering her mouth with my free hand. She is struggling now. Shit. I need her to not make a sound. My best idea right now? Gut her.

I hear the squelch before I feel the blood seep into my dominant hand. Hmm. Guess I pierced her vitals. Maybe her intestines, maybe her stomach.

She doesn’t even have enough energy to scream. She could only gasp for breath, except wait! I’m covering her mouth and nose. I let go of it. Let her take her last breaths. It will be valuable for her.

Mask off. Yep, she definitely recognises me now. I make sure she sees my smirk.

Does she have enough energy to scream my name like I feared before? Of course not. She doesn’t have the energy. I feel another wave of adrenaline, and I grab the hilt of the knife and twist. More squelching sounds. Oh, how I relish that sound! Oh, how I wish to hear it again!

I pull the knife out. Some kind of sticky substance comes out along with it. Ew. I don’t want to touch her shit.

Rachel is gasping now. Good girl. She still hasn’t made a sound. Ironic, no? She normally has so much to say!

It’s almost like she’s helping me. Thank you, Rachel.

Now for the final blow. You see, Rachel prides herself for her voice. I gotta admit, she does have a good voice. No, really. She sings really well. Ah, such a shame for that to go to waste. Such a shame.

I lift her chin with my spare hand. Her eyes must sting with all the shed tears, her face is so pale. It is probably the moonlight, though.

I lift the knife and strike at her throat. Yep, definitely slit. It’s spurting a lot of blood, and… oh great, it’s getting on my shirt. Shit. Blood stains don’t really wash off. Oh well. I should have seen it coming. I’ll throw it out the trash later.

She’s dying. Yeah, no shit. Of course she’s dying.

One last thing. Her voice. It should be cherished, right?

I pull the knife that was still embedded in her throat out and waste no time in digging my fingers into it. I dig, and dig until I find strips of flesh inside that I pull out.

It’s long. Quite long. It’s probably her oesophagus or something. Yeah, no I don’t really want to think about it, really. It’s nasty.

Hmm. Should I taste it? Ah, screw it. Why the hell not. Live life to the fullest, right?

I take one bite. Fuck. That’s grim. I spit it out straight away.

Shit, I forgot to see the light leave Rachel’s eyes. Oh well. I will have plenty of opportunities in the future. Only, what, nine more to go?

Let’s get cleaned up. Rachel slumps back in her bed. I take a quick shower, watching how the water turns from crimson to scarlet, to red, to pink, and finally to clear. Interesting.

I clean the mask and the knife. I get fresh clothes from the closet, put them on, and dispose of the clothes outside. I make sure no one will find them, because it is thrown into the bushes. Who would look there?

I make my way back into my sleeping zone. That was certainly more than satisfactory. Excellent, actually.

With a sigh, I start to drift to sleep, smile plastered on my face.


	6. Day 5

Santana woke up to a pounding in her head. Groaning, she flipped over, only to meet the sight of twinkling blue eyes only inches away from her own. She gave a small sigh and closed her eyes as an attempt to briefly quell her mild headache. Soon, her chocolate eyes were open again. Brittany was still staring at her.

“Watching me, creeper?” Santana teased. Santana was too close to Brittany’s face to see her lips curve upwards in a smile, but she could see it in her eyes, as she saw it sparkle for a split second.

“Maybe,” Brittany drawled out before leaning in to kiss Santana. Within a few seconds, however, Brittany pulled back and grimaced. “You have really bad morning breath today, Santana.”

Santana frowned. “Since when did that bother you, Brittany? I thought that you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” Brittany smiled again. “I was just making a point.” Santana pouted, and Brittany leaned in again to kiss Santana’s lower lip.

A few more seconds passed before a voice piped up angrily.

“Will you guys stop it?” Quinn half-shouted. Santana smirked into the kiss before pulling away and flipping again to look at Quinn’s displeased figure in the sleeping bag.

“You jealous?” Santana sniggered. Quinn scowled.

“For the millionth time, I’m not gay, I don’t ‘want in on all this’,” Quinn said, brows furrowed. “Although, yes, I am slightly jealous of you guys’ sweetness sometimes.”

“Yup. No one shares what Sanny and I have,” Brittany chirped. “Though I do believe that there is someone out there for everyone. You just have to go find them. Maybe Puck is yours?” Brittany suggested.

Quinn wrinkled her nose. “No. Just because I had a baby with him it doesn’t mean that he is my soulmate.”

“Oh, come on, Q. Puck is so into you.” Santana chaffed.

“Doesn’t mean I’m into him,” Quinn grumbled. “Can we leave it at that, please?”

“Okay, Q, if you say so.” Santana gave a lopsided smile, but her face soon turned serious again. She got out of Brittany’s rather intimate grasp and sat up on the bed. “Sorry to bring this on you so early, but anyone care to explain why there was a knife in our room?”

Quinn’s face paled.

“A knife?” Brittany questioned.

“Yes, a knife. Puck mentioned that a knife had been stolen from the stand. Was it you guys?”

“Well, I, uh –” Quinn stumbled. Santana raised an eyebrow when a few seconds passed in silence.

“Go on, Quinn,” Santana prompted.

“I-I took the knife,” Quinn admitted. Santana bristled slightly.

“May I ask why?” Santana asked.

“I just haven’t been feeling safe lately,” Quinn explained. “You know, with all that’s going on, the murders. I just figured that I’d take something that would defend me with.”

“Um, you realise that a knife wouldn’t go far in protecting you, right? Artie got fried. Finn got poisoned. How is a knife going to save you?” Santana questioned.

“I think that’s a great idea, Quinn,” Brittany said before Quinn could answer. “Who knows what the killer has in store for us? A knife is a perfect self-defence tool. If they come for us personally, we have something to defend ourselves with.”

“I guess you have a point, Britt,” Santana sighed. “I guess a knife between the three of us will make us much stronger. But,” Santana added pointedly. “Under no circumstances do we use the knife to attack. We only use it when we are attacked.” Brittany seemed to agree with Santana’s request, as she nodded, but Quinn had other ideas.

“Who said that we were sharing the knife between the three of us? I got the knife for _me_ ,” she scowled. “I’m not letting you use it.”

“Quinn, what did I say about us sticking together _as a team_?” Santana shot back. “Everything we have is as much yours as ours.”

“That’s communism,” Brittany commented, sniggering. Santana glared at her.

“Not helpful, Brittany.” Brittany’s face fell.

“No, Santana. I don’t want you guys to have the knife because then _I_ don’t feel safe. I literally sleep in the middle of the room. Anyone could just slit my throat I can do nothing about it,” Quinn said.

“And only you having the knife helps?” Santana raised an eyebrow. “You can’t do anything about it, knife or not.”

“It’s okay, Santana. If she wants to keep to herself, she can. We’ll just get our own,” Brittany suggested, shrugging. Santana shook her head.

“And what, all of us become armed with knives? You realise that we become more suspicious, right? We’ll be targeted.”

“No one will find out,” Brittany replied. “We’ll hide it.”

Santana thought for a moment. “Fine,” she acquiesced. “Only one more for the two of us.”

“Yeah, that would work.”

As the couple left the room, Quinn sighed and shouted after them. “What did you say about being anywhere alone? You’re leaving me here! Alone! I don’t feel safe anymore!”

“Then come with us!” Santana’s voice shouted back. Huffing, Quinn got up heavily and left the room.

***

As Santana and Brittany walked into the kitchen downstairs, they saw Mike and Tina already there, getting some food from the pantry. It did not go unnoticed that Tina edged closer to Mike.

“Getting some food?” Mike asked, grabbing a piece of bread.

“Yeah, sure,” Santana said, offhand. She looked at Tina, who was glaring back towards them with suspicious eyes. “This vacation blows. No one trusts each other anymore,”

“Nah, I trust you guys,” Mike said to ease up the mounting tension that he could feel between his girlfriend and the two cheerleaders before him. “Don’t you, Tina?”

No answer.

“She doesn’t trust us,” Brittany sighed. “I understand. After all, we were both accused at the table yesterday.”

“Anyway, what are you going to eat?” Santana asked, changing the subject.

“Um, we were just going to eat some bread with some strawberry jam,” Mike said, offering a small smile. “Maybe some milk as well.”

“Hmm, that sounds nice,” Brittany responded. “Maybe we should get the same, Sanny.”

“Okay,” Santana said. “Mike, pass us some bread, will you?”

Tina shot Mike a warning glare.

“Relax, Tina, they’re not going to harm us. They’re our friends,” Mike reminded her, passing two slices of bread over to Santana. Brittany got out the jam from the fridge for all of them and got to work at spreading it over her and Santana’s slices of bread. Soon, Mike and Tina got their milk and left the kitchen, Tina mumbling something to Mike about staying away from the girls. Santana sighed as Brittany was finishing up making their bread.

“Don’t mind them, Britt. Now let’s get what we came here for. You know where the knives are?”

Brittany looked towards the windowsill and frowned. “I swear they used to be there.” Santana followed the line of Brittany’s vision and saw an empty windowsill.

“Yeah, I thought so, too. Maybe Puck put them away?” Santana offered. Brittany nodded her head in agreement.

“Yeah, maybe. You wanna look for it?” Santana looked around.

“Don’t think there is anyone around,” Santana shrugged. “Why not?”

But before they could put forth their plans on finding the knives, a high-pitched, shrill scream reverberated across the whole house.

“Quinn,” Brittany gasped, running towards the stairs.

Santana ran up the stairs after her.

***

Quinn was going to follow Santana and Brittany, but her bladder was suddenly about to burst. She didn’t really want to go to the toilet alone, but it was the morning, and the killer only strikes at night, so technically, she was safe, right? She didn’t think that her bladder would withstand the time it would take to go downstairs, get the knife, and come back upstairs. As wetting herself would probably be the biggest embarrassment of her life, she decided to go into the toilet alone.

Thankfully, nothing happened when she was in the toilet, and when she finally got out (much to the satisfaction and relief of her bladder), she went to wash her hands. That was when something happened.

A shrill, piercing scream that made her blood run cold. She walked out of the bathroom to see Kurt sprinting out of Rachel’s room, and down the stairs. Blaine quickly followed Kurt in his wake.

Drying her hands on the towel, Quinn saw Brittany and Santana emerge on the landing, where Kurt and Blaine disappeared.

“Quinn! Thank god you’re okay,” Brittany said, running over engulfing the shorter blonde in a hug. Santana quickly caught up.

“What do you mean, ‘I’m okay’?” Quinn asked, confused.

“I thought you were getting attacked, you never came,” Brittany replied.

“Yeah, well, I needed the toilet,” Quinn answered, blushing slightly.

“It wasn’t you that screamed?” Santana spoke up.

“No,” Quinn furrowed her brows. “I think it was Kurt.”

“Explains the girly scream then,” Santana mumbled.

“Should we go ‘investigate’ then?” Brittany suggested, gesturing to the slammed door of Rachel’s room.

“We have had too many ‘investigations’ lately,” Santana pointed out. “But sure, it’s probably another hoax.”

“Judging by how Kurt ran out, it is probably really bad,” Quinn said. “And yesterday was definitely not a hoax,” Quinn added pointedly. “Actually, we have only had one hoax ever, and that was the very first one.”

“And one too many,” Santana replied smoothly. “Ugh, whatever. Let’s go.”

Brittany led the way to Rachel’s bedroom.

***

“I’m not sure I want to go in,” Quinn suddenly said, as Brittany put her hand on the handle.

“Why?” Santana asked, impatient.

“I mean, it made Kurt run out, didn’t it? What if it’s really morbid?” Quinn said. Santana rolled her eyes.

“Open the door, Brittany,” she ordered.

“Aye, aye,” Brittany saluted and turned the handle. She walked inside, Santana and Quinn following behind her. Santana looked first.

Black. Red. So much of it. On what used to be pristine cream walls, the light blue of the bedsheet.

“Fuck,” Santana squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m leaving now,” she briskly stepped out of the room.

“What is it?” Quinn asked, now more curious than scared, and stepped inside, so that the thing that made Santana leave was now in her sight.

Considering Quinn’s rather spineless behaviour prior to them entering, Brittany was surprised that she didn’t run out like Santana after seeing the grotesque sight in front of her. Brittany didn’t actually look at it carefully, only a flash, and she instantly understood why Santana left.

It was so smelly as well.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Who is that?”

Quinn stepped closer, but not too close, as she didn’t want to step into dried blood. She clapped her hands over her mouth as the smell was so strong. But soon, Quinn’s squeamish side seemed to emerge again.

“Let’s get out of here,” she squealed, grabbing Brittany’s hand and hurrying out of the room.

“How the hell did you guys stay in there for so long?” Santana demanded, still taking deep breaths.

“I kept my eyes shut,” Brittany replied monotonously.

“I think that was Rachel,” Quinn gasped. “Who on earth would do that to her?”

“What happened to her?” Santana asked.

“Punctured throat, stabbed in the stomach. Yeah, we definitely need the knife now,” Quinn said, still slightly out of breath.

“You guys have a knife?” Sam said abruptly, appearing by Brittany’s shoulder. Santana quickly pulled Brittany towards her and away from Sam. Sam caught that action. “Relax, Santana,” he chuckled a little bit. “You guys have a knife?” he asked again, except with a bit more force.

The trio looked at each other.

“No,” Brittany said carefully. “We wanted one to protect ourselves, but there aren’t any knives left in the kitchen. I think Puck hid them.” Sam nodded thoughtfully.

“Okay. Now you mention it, I think a knife would be useful, actually. I might go find one,” Sam said, but Santana quickly spoke up.

“What, so you can kill us? I’m not letting you get anywhere remotely close to a knife!” Santana shouted. Sam looked at her angrily.

“What is the deal with you thinking it is me? You just can’t think otherwise, can you? Just because you don’t like me it doesn’t mean I murder people for my sick pleasure,” Sam retorted.

“Oh, so who else could it be then?” Santana shot.

“Honestly? I think it’s Puck.” Santana scoffed, but Sam persisted. “He took the knives, he probably has one by his side at all times. He has full control of the keys, he knows this house the best, he can navigate without getting lost. He makes our food, controls our food supply. I think it’s him.”

“Actually, Sam I agree with you,” Brittany said. Sam smiled brightly at her approval. “He probably didn’t hide the knives. He took them all.”

“I don’t think it’s Puck,” Quinn said quietly. “He isn’t the type of person to do this stuff. He literally explained to all of us why it wasn’t him yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry Quinn, but I don’t think your argument is as strong as ours,” Sam smirked. He noticed the closed door that the girls were hanging around when he spotted them. “What happened in there?”

“Go look for yourself,” Santana said. “It’s kinda disgusting.”

Sam walked in anyway.

“Holy fuck, is that Rachel?” the girls heard Sam’s voice shout from inside. “That poor girl. Someone help me carry her outside!” Santana bristled. That was all? Was he ignoring the fact that she had been cut open?

“Fuck Sam, you seriously going to touch that corpse?” Santana scowled.

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” they could hear Sam’s shrug from his voice. “I’ll wrap her up so it won’t be so gross.”

“No Sam, you got it wrong. If you thought for a moment that we were going to help you –”

“What do you need help with?” Puck said, emerging. The three cheerleaders subtly took a step back. Brittany simply tilted her head towards the direction of Rachel’s room as an answer. Puck frowned slightly and walked inside.

“Oh hey, Puck. Help me carry her outside?” Sam requested.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Puck growled. “You just look at _this_ and don’t have any reaction?”

“Well, it’s not like you had much of one either,” Sam replied smoothly. “Help me?”

“Fine,” Puck said. “But that is fucking grim.”

“Yeah, which is why we gotta get her out before her body starts to rot and it smells even more,” Sam replied. He finished wrapping up the bedsheets around Rachel’s corpse. He lifted Rachel’s feet. “Get her shoulders.”

As the now-covered corpse was carried out into the landing Puck shot the girls a scathing look.

“That room is out of bounds. We are going to talk about this.” Puck said scornfully. He raised his voice. “Everyone meet me in the dining room in ten!” he bellowed for everyone to hear. “Attendance is compulsory, or we will assume you killed Rachel!” With that, Sam and Puck descended down the stairs.

“It baffles me how they don’t seem to care that Rachel died. And the fact that she was killed like that as well.” Santana said absently.

“I mean, it’s not like you really cared all that much either,” Brittany noted. “It’s Rachel, you know? If anything, I’m relieved that it was her that went next. If it was you, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Britt. And don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Quinn…” Santana looked around. “Where the fuck did Quinn go? She either needs a hearing aid, or is mentally disabled and can’t follow instructions,” she scowled.

A look of hurt flashed over Brittany’s face, only for a split second, but Santana caught it and instantly felt guilty.

“I’m sorry Britt, I didn’t mean it. I won’t joke about your condition again, okay?” Santana said sincerely.

Brittany simply nodded. “Let’s go find Quinn. Again.”

“Again,” Santana sighed distastefully.

***

The first place Santana and Brittany decided to look was their bedroom. And they were right. Quinn was inside. Except she was holding a large knife in her right hand. She heard the sound of the door closing and turned around.

“Hey guys!” she grinned. Santana took a step back.

“What the hell are you doing, Quinn? Put that down!” Santana barked. Quinn looked down and saw that she still had the knife in her hand. Her smile instantly fell and she quickly shoved it into Brittany’s bedside drawer, looking sheepish.

“Sorry, I was just getting used to the hold of it,” Quinn said bashfully. “You know, when the time comes for me to defend myself.”

“Thank God,” Brittany let out a breath. “You totally looked like a classic killer from a horror movie, especially when you were smiling. It was kind of scary, to be honest.”

“Me? Look scary?” Quinn laughed.

“This is no laughing matter,” Santana growled. “Especially with how Rachel died, you cannot go around holding a knife and smiling like a maniac. You realise that makes you really suspicious, right?”

Quinn looked down. “Yeah, I get what you mean.”

“To be honest, I don’t really feel safe at all when Quinn has a knife and we don’t. Especially when she was wielding it like that,” Brittany said.

“Yeah, I agree,” Santana said. An idea then popped up in her head. “How about this. You either let Brittany and I use it to defend ourselves as well, as in we can carry it around with us when we’re going to the toilet alone or something, or I will snitch and Puck, Sam and other people will know you have a knife. Which one do you choose?”

“That’s not fair, Santana,” Quinn huffed. “But fine. You guys can use it,” she relented.

“Good.” Santana smiled, slightly malignant, but it could have just been Quinn being paranoid. “Now will you tell us why it was in your hands? How did you even know where it was? I hid it yesterday.”

“Oh, so that’s why you knew there was a knife,” Brittany mumbled in realisation.

“I was looking for it when you were talking to Puck and Sam. Turned out it was in the closet,” Quinn said, shrugging.

“Could’ve just asked me about it,” Santana muttered. “Alright, since we have a knife, I think we need to set some ground rules.” Quinn and Brittany nodded, prompting Santana to go on. “If this knife leaves this room, all three of us have to know, okay? This knife also may not be used for anything except when absolutely necessary. Not you freaking out and slashing anyone in the dark, yes, Quinn? Only when you are sure you are being attacked, and directly attacked, like life or death situation, okay? Also, the knife’s default spot is Brittany’s drawer. If it is anywhere else, we will have questions. That reasonable?” Santana regarded the two girls before her.

“Sounds fair,” Brittany said, the same time as Quinn said, “That’s fine.”

“Okay, great. Now I think we have to go downstairs for a Puck meeting,” Santana informed.

Quinn groaned. “It will just be accusations being thrown around again,”

“We’ll live,” Brittany said before all three of them left for the dining room.

***

“We are in a dire situation,” Puck stated to the whole dining table, where everyone was rather obediently sat at. “As you guys may know, Rachel had been viciously murdered, her throat is all kinds of messed up and her intestines were on the floor. That is absolutely disgusting! I cannot believe that one of you did this.”

Sam scoffed, which caught the attention of Puck. “You got a problem, Evans?”

“No, Noah. It’s just kind of strange how all the knives suddenly disappeared?” Sam retorted. Puck’s eyes flashed.

“What are you trying to imply here, Evans?”

“I’m implying that you took the knives. Now I don’t know if you are going to use it for good or for bad, but it’s kind of unfair that you have knives and we don’t, isn’t it?” Sam said.

“While it’s true that I did take the knives,” Puck confessed. “I do not intend on using any one of them. Two knives have already been stolen from the stand,” Puck’s volume increased. “I seriously hope that doesn’t mean that there are _two_ murderers in this room.”

“Wait,” Sam said. “Two knives have been stolen? Why don’t we all just get one then so we can all defend ourselves?”

“There aren’t enough knives for all of us. And we shouldn’t even need knives to defend ourselves in the first place!” Puck replied.

“Yeah, but we do now,” Santana said. “After what happened to Rachel, you just expect us to sit back and wait for the killer to get us?”

“No,” Puck sighed, rubbing his mohawk. “And this is why it is more necessary for us to get out of here. I’ve now got the keys to the front door, meaning that we can go outside, but I still don’t have the keys to the front gate. I think that we should search the house for the key, and knives that may be around as well.” Puck proposed.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Mike piped up. “But how do we know people aren’t hiding it in their clothes, their pockets? And we have a crap ton of room to cover. How are we going to do this?”

“We can search other people’s rooms. People not searching are not allowed to leave this room,” Puck said. “Until the house has been searched completely. For now, just to check that no one has anything on them, everyone flip your pockets,” he ordered.

“You know Puck?” Brittany suddenly said. “You act like you’re the leader of this place. Yes, I know you are the host. But that doesn’t give you the right to boss us around. I seriously doubt we would be able to find the knives, let alone the key anyway, if it even is in the house. Any one of us, including you, could hide it too easily, if we have it that is. This search would just be a complete waste of time.”

“She’s right,” Quinn said. “This search would take the whole day. And when a room gets searched, anyone could just put the key or a knife back into the searched room. It’s not worth it.”

“So what, you guys have a better idea?” Puck asked. It wasn’t exactly in a malicious tone, but it was definitely not friendly.

“I say we just let them be,” Sam said nonchalantly. “Let them do their thing. If they get you, you are simply not careful enough.”

“Sam, what the hell?” Santana growled. “And you wonder why I don’t suspect you. It’s almost like you want everyone to be murdered.”

Sam stared back darkly. “Every single time someone got killed, it was because they were alone. Except for Finn, but he was stupid enough to drink a spiked drink. So, with precautions, how can the killer even get us? Just don’t be alone. You’ve done it already, you got your little threesome going on there,” he pointed at the three cheerleaders. “Don’t eat anything made by other people. And why even search for knives? You realise that is not the only way to murder people. Say we found all the knives. Great. This house is knife free. We can still kill with a million other ways. With a lamp, with water, heck, with our bare hands. I say we are screwed unless we find the killer. And how do we do that? We let them kill. We wait for them to make a mistake.”

The room remained silent for a while.

“That sounds… unethical,” Quinn said.

“What better idea do you have?” Sam sighed.

“Um… something that doesn’t involve the death of any more people?” Quinn replied.

“Thing is, we can’t avoid the inevitable. Unless we find the killer now and kill them this instant, as soon as they leave this room, they will have another opportunity to get one of us. And as you probably know already, we don’t know who the killer is and so we are basically screwed today.”

“Puck, you’ve been very quiet. Do you have a say in this matter?” Mercedes enquired. Puck thought for a moment.

“I agree with Sam,” Puck said finally. “As much as I hate to say this, I can’t think of a way to prevent the inevitable. I think that the best thing is, then, that we implement what Sam suggested, stick with other people so you are never alone. Now we have access to the outside, we could probably look for faults in the fence and find an escape.”

“Okay,” Brittany spoke up again. “We find an escape outside. I kind of need fresh air anyways.”

Puck sighed. “I know it’s not ideal, but if we look hard enough, we could be out of here today.”

That seemed to motivate the group, as they started to stand up and make their way to the front door. Puck got the keys out and walked towards the front door as well. Sam also left, but not before glaring at the cheerleaders, particularly Santana.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you, Britt,” Santana promised.

“Of course you won’t,” Quinn scoffed. “What about me?” Santana opened her mouth to reply, but Brittany cut her off.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Santana.”

***

It was rather refreshing to breathe some fresh air. After all, no one had been outside for the entirety of yesterday, as the keys were missing, and all the windows were bolted shut, so it was rather stuffy inside, so people were rather pleased to be out and about. The rain had stopped and there was no more thunder unlike yesterday, but the sticky feel of the humid air was still there and there was also a vague scent of rain.

The grass was soaked in the garden, meaning that mud quickly collected on the girls’ shoes as they trekked through. Santana wasn’t exactly pleased with the fact that her rather expensive trainers were getting ruined in the mud, but Brittany didn’t seem to mind. She was hopping from puddle to puddle, splashing brown water everywhere, much to the displeasure of both Santana and Quinn.

“Will you please stop that?” Quinn snapped as Brittany did a super high leap into a large puddle, splashing Quinn’s calves and making her socks wet. Brittany stopped, still foot deep in the puddle.

“Stop what?” Brittany asked innocently.

“Jumping around and splashing all of us,” Quinn frowned.

“It’s not just jumping around,” Brittany enthused. “I can’t step on anywhere that isn’t a puddle. It’s like the floor is lava, except with puddles.”

“Well, it’s making all of us wet,” Santana said. Brittany sighed and dipped her head, sadness clouding her features.

“Fine,” she grumbled a few seconds later, stepping out of the puddle and falling in step beside the other two girls.

They started to make their way around the perimeter of the back garden, as Puck said that he had already checked the front, and there were no cracks in the fence. He said that their best bet was to go through and check the bushes at the back and see if there were any weak points behind which they could exploit and escape through. It was kind of tedious.

“Since we are probably going to be stuck here for a while, let’s spy on other people,” Santana suggested. Quinn gave a small chuckle.

“Spy them for what?” Quinn said, amused.

“See who pairs up with who. You are not allowed to be alone, so let’s see who’s sticking with who,” Santana shrugged.

“Yeah, might as well,” Quinn muttered. A few seconds passed in quiet, except the faint, occasional squawk of ravens in the sky. “Hey, look there,” Quinn pointed at the other side of the garden, except to Santana it was a bit more of a field than a garden. “Puck and Sam.”

“Huh,” Santana pondered. “Interesting. Doesn’t Sam think it’s Puck who’s doing the murders?”

“Yeah,” Brittany scoffed, unenthusiastic. “But who else is Sam going to be with? Tina?”

“No need for the sarcasm, Britt,” Santana furrowed her brows at her girlfriend, who stared back at her blankly. “But you make a point.”

“Look there,” Quinn pointed to another point in the far side of the field. “Mercedes has decided to tag along with Mike and Tina.”

“No surprise there,” Santana said. “Except she could tag with Kurt and Blaine, I guess,” she pointed to another point of the field, closer to them this time and closer to the patio, where the boys (and Brittany) had played football a few days prior. They were diligently looking through the bushes, parting them and sometimes even disappearing inside.

“They look like they really want to leave,” Quinn noted. “They’re actually trying. Look at Puck at Sam. They’re just talking.” Santana hummed contemplatively.

“Of course the gays are doing that. Maybe we should as well. You guys want to leave, right?”

“Sure. Don’t insult the gays though. You realise that we’re all gay as well, right?” Brittany said.

“ _I’m_ not gay,” Quinn stressed, slightly frustrated. Brittany just smirked.

“I think we all know you have a little gay in you, Q,” Brittany chortled. “You were totally checking us out during our sexy times,”

Quinn blanched. “I was _not_! And it wasn’t like you were doing it privately either. I was literally two meters from you when you were getting it on!”

“Quinn, you sound kinda guilty,” Santana said. Brittany laughed.

“Let’s just get to what we’re meant to be doing,” Quinn scowled.

“Fine,” Brittany said. “How the fuck we meant to be doing this, anyway?”

“You know I don’t like it when you swear, Britt,” Santana reprimanded. “But I guess look for cracks behind the bushes?”

“That’s going to take forever,” Brittany frowned.

“Which is why this is going to be a huge waste of time,” Quinn sighed.

***

Santana was very cranky. They had been trudging around outside for the better half of the afternoon now, and it had started to rain again while they were outside. Unfortunately for the girls, Puck was relentless and forced everyone to stay outside until they scoured every nook and cranny of this place. It took forever, and when they had finally finished (thanks to the other people’s increased work rate as they were desperate to get out of the rain), Puck finally let them go back inside. The shower was currently occupied, so the Unholy Trinity was perched on their bed, shivering and very wet.

It was quite amazing that they managed to find nothing, after all the place was massive so you would think that there would be at least one fault in the fencing. But no. Apparently, Puck was some kind of security guru, installing security that eventually backfired, as that basically doomed them all to this house.

“I don’t understand why Puck forced us to trek in the mud for _four_ hours, standing in the rain and digging through bushes,” Santana ranted. “He has no right,”

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Quinn grumbled.

“I kind of hope that the killer goes for him next, so that we don’t have a self-elected leader anymore,” Brittany said, voice unusually low, probably because she was shivering. “But then the killer could be Puck.”

“Don’t say that, Brittany,” Santana chastised. “You shouldn’t wish death on anyone.”

“Yeah,” Brittany had the decency to look ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

All three girls heard the bathroom door open. Quinn immediately grabbed her towel and her clothes. “I’m next,” she announced before opening Brittany’s drawer and taking the knife with her.

“Do you really need that with you?” Santana scowled.

“I will be alone, won’t I?” Quinn questioned back. “At least you know that the knife will be outside the room.”

“Fine. Be quick, please, I’m kind of desperate for a shower.” Santana said, as close to pleading as she could get to, as Santana doesn’t tend to plead or beg anyone for anything.

“No guarantees,” Quinn smirked before disappearing behind their bedroom door, along with the knife, which glinted one last time before it disappeared altogether.

Santana turned to Brittany, the only other person left in the room. “She is such a bitch.”

“Nah, I think she’s a sweetheart,” Brittany rebutted. “Deep inside,” she quickly added when she saw the withering, disagreeing look in Santana’s eyes.

“No, I don’t see it,” Santana said after a while. “She’s kind of conniving and manipulative.”

“I don’t think so. She only does that for social status, but I think she is starting to realise that isn’t so important anymore. She’s kind of cute, just like you.” Brittany smiled.

“I’m not cute. Don’t call me that again,” Santana warned.

“But you so are,” Brittany teased, grinning. “You’re my cute little Sanny bear,” she added with a baby voice, poking Santana on her side.

“Ow!” Santana yelped. “I’m not cute, and I’m definitely not a bear!”

“You are though,” Brittany pouted playfully, poking Santana on her side again.

“Stop poking me!” Santana snapped, leaning over and poking Brittany back. Brittany squealed and recoiled. But soon, the blonde recovered and had an evil smirk on her face. When she lunged forward, Santana had no time to react. One moment she was looking at Brittany on the bed beside her, like half a meter away from her, the next moment she was pinned underneath the blonde on the bed, who was straddling her. Santana couldn’t really breathe, because Brittany’s hands were everywhere on her body, tickling her mercilessly.

“Ah, ah, Britt,” Santana gasped between peals of laughter. “Stop, ah, please!”

“Admit you’re cute!” Brittany demanded, still digging her fingers in Santana’s waist, armpits, ribs. “Admit it!”

“No!” Santana shouted adamantly, still wriggling and squirming under Brittany.

“No? Well, you only have yourself to blame!” Brittany exclaimed, before tickling Santana at a much faster pace, which led to tortured laughter erupting from the brunette’s mouth.

“Please! I beg! Stop!” Santana shrieked. Brittany didn’t stop. “Okay! I’m cute! I’m cute!” Santana relented. With a satisfied smirk, Brittany stopped moving her hands and leaned down to give Santana’s pouted lips a peck.

“Damn right you are,” Brittany said smugly, getting off Santana’s waist. Santana took a while to regain her breath, but when she did, the brunette had her own devilish smirk.

“A little birdie told me _you_ were ticklish, Brittany,” Santana said slowly, teasingly. Brittany’s eyes widened.

“No,” Brittany warned, backing away, but not fast enough. Santana pounced on Brittany and started to dig her own fingers into Brittany’s flesh. Brittany’s laughter was like music to Santana’s ears.

She made sure that some wee came out of Brittany before she stopped.

***

“I got us the food,” Quinn grumbled as she dumped some instant noodles on the kitchen island. “We can just cook it with hot water from the kettle.”

“Wait, we’re just eating that?” Santana pointed at the few packs of Maggi sitting on the island. “Doesn’t feel very vacation-y,”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want to stay here and cook!” Quinn snapped as she poured water into the kettle and switched it on. “You don’t cook well, Santana, and I think we all know Brittany’s abilities in the kitchen!”

“I like Maggi,” Brittany said. “It’s like the type of food Coach Sylvester would never let us eat.”

“So, we eat this when it’s done, and we go straight upstairs, okay?” Quinn said with authority.

“And you don’t like Puck bossing us around,” Santana grumbled. Quinn just shot her a scathing look.

After a few minutes, the girls were sat at the table, consuming long strips of noodles from large bowls.

“Brittany, please talk to me,” Santana pleaded. Brittany side-eyed the brunette.

“I’m still mad at you,” Brittany mumbled. Was Brittany still mad at her for the tickling? It had been hours! Santana thought that the bath that they took together when Quinn finally finished made up for it.

“But you started it!” Santana argued, petulant.

“And I told you to stop so many times!” Brittany shot back, brows furrowed adorably.

“You didn’t stop when I told you to stop either!”

“You made me wet myself!”

“Since when did you not like me getting you wet?”

“Guys! Stop it!” Quinn scolded. “Just eat the food and we can go upstairs. You are acting like five-year-olds!”

“We’re not finished,” Brittany growled.

“Yes you are,” Quinn replied instantly with a scowl. “Eat.”

The girls ate in silence, sometimes exchanging looks and sometimes just staring at each other.

***

“What can we even do tonight?” Santana said exasperatedly, flopping back on the bed next to Brittany. Thankfully, the two girls had come to an agreement regarding their tickling, thanks to Quinn, who acted as an adjudicator and forced them to reach a middle ground. They were no longer allowed to make each other pee, and they couldn’t blackmail each other to say things that they didn’t want to say. Now that was sorted, the girls settled in their room, thinking about what to do.

“I kind of crave the internet right now,” Quinn groaned unhappily.

“We could always watch a movie,” Brittany suggested.

“From where?” Santana asked. “We don’t have anything to watch with here,”

“The lounge, where the TV is,” Brittany said simply.

“The lounge?” Quinn interrupted. “Where everyone else would be? Do you have a death wish?”

“Think about it. If everyone stays in their rooms because they avoid other people and hence the lounge, then there would be no one there. We can have a free night ourselves there, watching TV, where no one would dare to interrupt us, as we are kind of suspicious already,” Brittany explained.

“You are actually so smart, Britt,” Santana beamed. “So, which film we watching?”

“Well, we could watch…” she opened her drawer to find her DVDs. But she frowned. “Where is the knife?”

“The knife is missing?” Santana asked, trying not to panic.

“I’ve got it,” Quinn said quickly before any one of them freaks out. “Sorry, forgot to put it back,” she retrieved the knife from her sleeping bag.

“It’s not something that you forget,” Santana said, gritting her teeth so it came out a bit muffled.

“I know, I’m sorry. I put it there when I went to put my towel away and forgot about it because you two were bickering.” Quinn said. She sounded sincere, so the other girls let it go.

“So, Britt, what films do you have?”

***

They ended up having a bit of a movie marathon. They watched late into the night, and halfway through their fourth film, Santana’s eyelids started to feel very heavy. Brittany was already asleep, snuggled into Santana’s side, snoring softly. The sound, along with the faint buzz of the television, was enough to lull Santana to sleep. However, before she could drift off, Quinn decided to make her existence known.

“You wanna die or something?” she hissed angrily. Santana mumbled something vaguely, but Quinn couldn’t make out what it was. “Get up. Get up!” she ordered, slapping the brunette’s arms, then the blonde’s. Confused blue eyes opened, but then they cleared.

“God, I fell asleep,” Brittany muttered. “Thanks for waking us up, Quinn.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Get the DVD, and let’s go back into our room.”

“Fine,” Santana grumbled as Brittany got up and removed the DVD from the player. “Let’s go,” she said, stifling a yawn. She hooked arms with Brittany and walked up the stairs.

Quinn walked behind them, but she could swear she saw a moving shadow in her peripheral vision. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her: she was also quite tired. She urged the couple in front of them to go faster anyway and closed the door behind them when they entered their room, putting a chair under the handle.

~

It’s kind of hard to get someone alone. Because everyone is just so careful. Especially after what happened to Rachel. No one really wants to have their throat slit and vocal cord removed, right? No, of course not. Maybe I went a bit too far yesterday. I just thought that Rachel needed a death that matched her personality. Maybe I was wrong.

Now come to think of it, I was pretty cruel.

Rachel deserved it though.

So, who’s next? From now on, I don’t really think that I can target a specific person and kill them that night. Not if I don’t want to get caught. And I don’t want to get caught.

Not for now, at least.

But then an idea struck me. While people in a group of three are hard to target, I can target people in a group of two.

I’ll target Kurt and Blaine today.

Honestly, I don’t mind killing the two of them. I don’t really think that one could survive without the other, anyway. Really, I’m doing them a favour. Especially Kurt. He doesn’t seem like the sort of person that could withstand any more murders without breaking. So I’ll get him, save him from more suffering.

And I’ll get Blaine, as he obviously is in love with Kurt, and he would be absolutely heartbroken if I only killed Kurt. Why bestow heartache on the last days of his life? I’m not that cruel.

Consider me a considerate person.

I don’t really want to viciously kill them or anything. They don’t deserve it, I don’t have anything against them really.

I’ll just kill them in their sleep. I can’t really force poison into their mouths, so I’ll just slit their throats. Nothing more. After all, I do need some kind of a break after yesterday. Yesterday was intense!

Now I’m actually quite worried that I wouldn’t be able to break into their room. I don’t think that their room has a lock or anything, but they could’ve blockaded the door or something.

As I turn the handle, I realise that their door was indeed locked, as the door wouldn’t open. I see a keyhole underneath the handle, though.

That’s not so bad. I can deal with that. I just need a paperclip or something that I can pick the lock with.

The paperclip wasn’t that hard to find. I just opened the drawer containing the stationery downstairs and got some. I may need more than one though, as I am quite out of practice at picking locks.

Picking the lock only takes about five minutes. It was kind of hard to do in the dark, however. But I manage to do it eventually.

Well, Blaine and Kurt. You thought you were safe, having locked the door and all that. Well, you’re not so safe now, are you?

Knife in my hand with a practiced grip, I look at their sleeping forms. They are clutched in each other’s grasps intimately. Maybe that’s why they don’t really stick around us that much in the first few days. They just like to have private time, and not draw attention to themselves.

Except that obviously didn’t work, did it? I’m targeting them now.

I don’t wear the mask today. I just don’t think I’ll need it. After all, they’ll never see my face, as to them the last thing they would see is whatever they saw before they fell asleep. Probably each other’s faces. How sweet. Although I am wearing gloves so that I won’t have to clean myself as much.

For whatever reason, I just can’t bring it upon myself to slice their throats right now.

I sigh and berate myself. What am I thinking? Of course I can bring it upon myself to do the deed.

Taking a deep breath, I drag the knife across Kurt’s throat first, then Blaine’s. Neither makes a sound. The only sound I can hear is the soft drip of blood onto the floor.

It’s done.

I close the door behind them, and I wash my hands anyway. To wash away the tiny bit of blood on my hand, wash away the murder, purify my soul.

I make my way back to my sleeping zone, oddly feeling unsatisfied.

Yes, I have killed two people today, but I’m not giddy like I was last night. Maybe because Rachel went out with a bang, and these boys didn’t?

Oh well. I’ll just get someone else tomorrow.


	7. Day 6

Santana was finally able to get in a good night’s sleep. The past few days had been a disaster, yesterday particularly since she had to trek in the mud for four hours and had to wake up only to see the corpse of Rachel, which still haunts Santana’s mind even though she only saw the mutilated form of Rachel’s body for a split second.

Truth is, Santana had not been able to sleep well over the past few days. Brittany squirms a lot in her sleep and sometimes sleep talks, which is most of the time incoherent and Santana could almost never make out what she was saying in her sleep. Also, Quinn snores. Quite loudly, in fact. On top of that, the past few days she had been waking up to shrill screams that chilled her to the bone.

This is why Santana was really happy to wake up in her own accord this time, to her girlfriend’s arms. Brittany was facing away from Santana, meaning that Santana was acting as the big spoon for the night, which Santana didn’t mind at all. The bright sunlight penetrating through the curtains indicated that it was a sunny day. This immediately brightened up Santana’s mood even more, as the past few days had been really grey and gloomy, which acted as another damper to everyone’s mood, murders aside.

Quinn was already awake by the time that Santana had woken up, and when Santana had asked the short-haired blonde what the time was, Quinn had replied that it was about nine o’clock.

Well, if it was nine o’clock already, and no one had screamed bloody murder, maybe that meant that there really had been no murder last night. The thought alone made Santana smile. Yes, she knew that you shouldn’t be happy at the fact that no one died as that was the norm, but given the circumstances of the past five days, Santana felt that she had a right to be happy.

If Santana was going to be honest, she had been worried sick lately. Mostly for Brittany’s safety. If she was in danger Santana swore that she would die protecting Brittany. Even if it meant that Brittany only got to live one extra day. It would be worth it.

When the curtain of blonde hair moved in front of Santana’s face, signifying that she was awake, Santana was smiling and ready to engage in some early morning sweet lady kisses.

However, Brittany had other ideas.

When Santana turned Brittany’s head towards her own to place a tender kiss on the blonde’s lips, Brittany frowned, eyes still closed, and turned her head so that Santana’s kiss landed on her cheeks.

“Go away, Santana,” Brittany mumbled, eyes squeezing shut as the sunlight penetrated through her closed eyelids. “I wanna sleep.”

“But Britt, it’s already nine,” Santana argued.

“So what?” Brittany growled, huffing and flipping over again so that her back was to Santana. “Let me sleep.”

“Baby, I think we should get up and then we could get some breakfast,” Santana suggested softly, cuddling closer to the blonde. “It’s late and I want my morning kisses,” she added with a pout. Brittany, however, was not amused. She puffed air out angrily and flipped so that she was facing Santana again. Her eyes opened, and her irises were a weird, dull shade of blue. Santana could swear it flashed with anger.

“For god’s sake, Santana, what do you not understand by ‘let me sleep’?” Brittany snarled. “I’m really tired!” with that, Brittany wrenched herself out of Santana’s grasp rather harshly and got out of bed. She marched her way towards Quinn’s sleeping bag, and without asking for Quinn’s permission, jumped straight into it. Quinn let out a sound of protest but under Brittany’s intense scowl, Quinn knew better than to argue so she let Brittany settle into her sleeping bag. However that sleeping bag was made for only one person to sleep in, so there was not nearly enough room for the two of them. Brittany grunted and shoved Quinn to the side, intent on falling asleep again, and Quinn was squeezed against Brittany’s body and the side of the sleeping bag. It was very uncomfortable, so Quinn figured that she would just get up, as she was already awake.

“What’s wrong with her?” Santana said worriedly, stifling a yawn.

“It’s probably the trough of her bipolar emotional spectrum,” Quinn guessed. “She’s probably having an ‘episode’.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Santana sighed. “I just really don’t like it when she’s like that. She’s a morning person as well, you know? It’s just weird to see her this grumpy in the morning.”

“Just give her a bit more time to sleep,” Quinn said, “and she will feel a lot better. But if she doesn’t, I guess we would just have to give her space.”

“But we can’t give her space!” Santana replied. “We are to stick together at all times! I can’t leave her alone, she’ll be unprotected!”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Quinn said contemplatively. “I guess when she gets up, we can just talk to her nicely about it. Hopefully, she’ll understand.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” Santana echoed absently.

***

“Hey Mike! Hey guys!” Brittany beamed as she, along with Santana and Quinn, approached the dining table, where Mike, Tina, and Mercedes were at.

Brittany didn’t receive a verbal answer. Mercedes and Tina simply shot her a scathing glare, whereas Mike gave her an apologetic smile.

“Don’t mind them, Britt,” Santana said, not wanting Brittany to not have another episode. Thankfully earlier, when Brittany woke up about thirty minutes after she went into Quinn’s sleeping bag, she was back to her bubbly self. Santana would do everything in her power to keep it that way.

“I just don’t understand why they don’t trust us,” Brittany pouted.

“Look, Brittany, I used to trust you, I really did, but now I’m not so sure,” Mike said remorsefully.

“Why not?” Quinn asked pointedly. “Did Mercedes and your girlfriend brainwash you or something?”

“No,” Mike sighed. “We just found something very interesting yesterday.”

“Something interesting?” Mercedes scoffed. “Way to go, Mike.” From seemingly nowhere, Mercedes pulled out a knife and stabbed it on the dining table with so much force that everyone jumped. “We found _this_ ,” she snarled gesturing to the knife whose tip was now embedded deeply into the wood of the table, “In _your_ drawer, Brittany. Care to explain?” Brittany didn’t think that she had ever seen Mercedes like this. Her hair was absolutely crazy, dark brown eyes frenzy with rage, voice raspy and completely lacking the rich tone that it normally has.

“I-I…” Brittany faltered, but Santana came to her rescue.

“ _We_ got this knife to protect all of us. There is a reason that it was in a _drawer_. We were not planning to use it for anything other than _self-defence_ ,” Santana growled angrily.

“Of course you say that,” Tina piped up, scowling. “The killer strikes at _night_. You weren’t going to use it when we found it, which wasn’t at _night_.”

“Why the fuck were you even going through our room anyway?” Santana asked furiously.

“Well, we were doing our own _investigations_ , as you like to call it,” Mercedes laughed mirthlessly. Brittany and Quinn widened their eyes, whereas Santana’s narrowed. “Have you ever wondered why you are always the ones who find out that someone got killed first? Hmm. Maybe you killed them yourself.”

“You had no right to go into _my drawer_ , or into _our room_ without our permission for that matter,” Brittany seethed.

“Well, it seemed like you were too _stupid_ to lock it, weren’t you? We could just stroll in and see what horrors you have in your drawer, couldn’t we?” Mercedes smirked.

The next few seconds were a blur.

Brittany lunged forward and slapped Mercedes across the face. Quite hard. Santana and Quinn had to hold her back to prevent the tall, now very irate blonde from doing any more damage. Mercedes huffed and composed herself, standing up straighter.

“It was _you_ all this time,” Mercedes said in mock shock. She pulled the knife from the table and pointed it at Brittany’s chest. Brittany let out a low, guttural sound from the back of her throat. “I knew it. I’ve always known it was you. I’m going to get you. Because maybe without you around, we wouldn’t have to deal with a _stupid psychopath_ in our midst, would we?” she said sinisterly. “And no more of us would have to die now, because _you_ won’t be here to kill us.”

“Why do you still think it’s me?” Brittany exclaimed, angry tears now escaping her long lashes, still struggling against Quinn and Santana’s hold. “I didn’t even get the knife!”

“Who got it then?” Tina asked, impatient.

“It was Quinn!”

Quinn let go of her restraint on Brittany and gave her a furious stare. If looks could kill, Brittany would probably be dead a hundred times over now, by the intensity of Quinn’s stare.

“But it was in _your_ drawer, wasn’t it?” Quinn smiled evilly. “That’s got to stand for something, right?”

“W-what?” Brittany stuttered, shocked at the backstabbing going on. Mercedes stepped closer, knife still pointing at Brittany’s chest.

“Yes, it does stand for something,” Mercedes smirked. “So, do you confess that you killed everyone, Britt-Britt?” Mercedes asked lowly, now advancing so close that the knife was nearly touching the blonde’s chest.

The proximity of Mercedes and Brittany seemed to jolt two people.

Mike lunged and yanked the knife out of Mercedes’ hand, while Santana grabbed Brittany by her waist and pulled her back, far away from Mercedes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Santana cried, incensed. “Brittany is bipolar, not a fucking psychopath! You have no fucking proof that she hurt anyone, let alone _killed_ anyone!”

“Santana’s right,” Mike said, still holding the knife, breathing heavily. “You cannot just threaten people like that, Mercedes! We have no proof.”

“Just because she’s your friend, Mike, doesn’t mean that she isn’t the killer!” Tina argued.

“Also doesn’t mean that she is!” Mike argued hotly. “We don’t know if that was the knife that was used to kill! We haven’t found the other one yet!”

“Wait,” Santana spat angrily. “You _haven’t_ found the other one, just found the one that we were using for _self-defence_ , and you just come to the conclusion that it was Brittany and threatened to kill her?”

“Believe me,” Mike sighed. “Us three have looked through the whole house, searching everywhere for the knives. We didn’t find anything, except the knife in Brittany’s drawer. Tina and Mercedes immediately jumped to the worst conclusion.”

“Does that mean that you looked into Sam’s as well?” Santana asked, anger fading slightly.

“We have looked through Sam’s room, and we didn’t find anything, but now Sam is staying with Puck, and they never left their room yesterday so we don’t know yet,” Mike responded.

“Fine,” Santana said. “Now can we have our knife back please?”

“Oh no you don’t get the knife back,” Tina responded. “We’re keeping it in our room,”

“What? No! We need it!” Brittany gasped. “Mike, please?” she pleaded.

Mike shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we feel safer with a knife,” he said apologetically. “Especially since Kurt and Blaine died yesterday, we want a knife to defend ourselves with as well.” With that they stood up and left the dining room, leaving no room for argument.

“Kurt and Blaine died?” Brittany gaped. Santana’s face was hard.

“It appears so,” she replied. Brittany sighed.

“We don’t have a knife anymore,” Brittany pouted.

“Yeah,” Santana sighed, still incandescent. “Fucking conniving bitches. Whatever. Let’s go back upstairs.”

***

“You are a fucking idiot, Quinn, you know that?” Santana roared once the three of them got inside the bedroom and the door was closed behind them.

“What did I do now?” Quinn asked indignantly.

“What did you do?” Santana repeated, enraged. “You completely betrayed us!”

“In what way?” Quinn asked hotly.

“You used the fact that _you_ put the knife in Brittany’s drawer against her, helping _their_ argument that it was _Brittany_ that killed _everyone_!”

“Oh come on, Santana,” Quinn scoffed. “I was just stating a fact. It wasn’t like Brittany didn’t do the same thing to me,”

“Brittany said that you got the knife because it actually was _you_ that got the knife! You had no right to do what you did! You nearly got Brittany killed!” Santana screamed.

“Don’t do a Rachel, Santana,” Quinn shot back. “Brittany wasn’t going to get _killed_ ,” she mocked.

That was the final straw for Santana. She pounced on Quinn, and started to claw at her face, slapping it repeatedly, landing punches on her body, just anywhere that would hurt.

“Stop the violence!” Brittany cried, pulling Santana away from Quinn by her waist. “Please, I don’t like it when you fight,”

Quinn was breathing heavily after Brittany got Santana off her, and the expression on her face changed, from stoic and determined to soft and remorseful. “I’m really sorry, Brittany, for doing what I did. I just don’t want them to think I killed anyone,” Quinn croaked defeatedly, slumping down and starting to sob. “I don’t want them to target me. I don’t want to die.”

“Aww, Quinn,” Brittany felt sympathetic and smothered the other blonde in a hug. “If you stick with us and don’t disappear all the time, we’ll all be fine. We’ll be super careful, okay?”

“We don’t even have the knife anymore,” Quinn wept. “How are we going to defend ourselves now? How are we going to sleep at night without feeling like we could die any second, like any second we could be breathing our last breath?”

“We’ll be fine, Quinn, we’ll be fine,” Brittany cooed soothingly into Quinn’s ear, whose tears were now starting to subside. “If it makes you feel better, come sleep with us. The bed is big enough for all of us, and we’ll protect you.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll actually take you up on that offer,” Quinn gulped, trying to stand up but instantly wincing and crumpling back down. Santana instantly felt guilty.

“I’m really sorry Quinn, I kind of overreacted there,” Santana said with reverence, albeit bashfully. “I really shouldn’t have hit you.”

“I kind of deserved it,” Quinn replied remorsefully.

“No you didn’t,” Santana reprimanded. “I’ll go get some ice packs, okay?” Quinn nodded weakly.

“Do you want me to come with?” Brittany asked. “I don’t want you going downstairs alone.”

“Yeah, that would be nice. Just stay here, Q, okay? We’ll be back in a jiffy.” Santana promised and disappeared along with Brittany, who quickly trailed in her wake.

Quinn sighed and lay back down, cheeks and stomach hurting quite badly.

***

The girls had decided that they wanted to go for a walk outside, away from the house and away from everyone. It was a nice day, which is why Santana agreed to go out as the grass wouldn’t be so muddy. When they left the bedroom, however, they decided that they needed some way to prevent anyone from doing any more ‘investigations’ in their room. So they decided to go find the key that would lock the bedroom, which they did not currently have.

Luckily for them, Brittany managed to find the key in the drawer under the sink, along with the assortment of other keys that would unlock various other places. She held up the key that was labelled to their room triumphantly, and, after a hefty praising session from Santana, their room was successfully locked and they were walking into the field around the back of the house.

After about ten minutes of pointless strolling around, Quinn told them that she couldn’t really walk anymore without stitching. Santana initially made fun of her for having low stamina, despite being on the Cheerios. But Brittany pointed out that Quinn was hurt and bruised, and it made sense for walking to hurt for her. Santana immediately chastised herself for her meanness and apologised. Since Quinn couldn’t walk much further, they decided to settle down, and the three of them lay on the grass, looking up at the sky. The ground was now sun-baked and quite warm, but there was a gentle, cool breeze that blew the girls’ hair up, levitating them slightly. It was lovely, and quite an escape from the terror that came with the confines of the house about thirty yards away from them.

Just lying there in the grass reminded the girls of the old times back when they were all little children. They would lie down on the grass in Brittany’s garden most of the time and just talk to each other. Back when things were simple and before all the teenage angst came. If Quinn had to be honest she had started to feel like a third wheel when Brittany and Santana started a secret relationship, Quinn wasn’t sure exactly when but it was probably when they were about twelve. Eventually, after Brittany realised that she and Santana had been ditching Quinn a lot for their own private times, Brittany felt bad for dumping Quinn behind and started to include her in a lot more of the activities they engaged in, such as going to the cinema together, the fair, hanging out in each other’s houses. But it was never the same if Quinn had to be honest. Brittany and Santana became each other’s soulmates, each other’s first kisses, first times, first everythings, so naturally they just had a much stronger bond to each other and Quinn felt that she was just tagging along. Yes, they were still the best of friends, but sometimes Quinn just wished, selfishly, that Brittany and Santana weren’t so attached to each other so that they would pay a bit more attention to her.

Now, Quinn really wished that she had found her soulmate. Brittany and Santana were lucky that they found each other so early. Because now Quinn may never have the chance. Brittany had suggested that it might be Puck. But Quinn didn’t really want to engage in a relationship with Puck, as Puck has a very casual view of sex, meaning that he could carry STDs and have mini-Pucks out there in the world. Quinn was also pretty celibate, the only time she had sex was with Puck and that was also the time she got pregnant. The sex wasn’t even good anyway; it just hurt. If she was to date Puck, Puck would almost definitely cheat on her as she would abstain from having sex with him. So no, Puck is not her soulmate. She doesn’t have one.

“Penny for your thoughts?” the sound of Brittany’s voice broke Quinn out of her reverie. Quinn turned her head to meet crystal blue eyes staring right back at her own.

“Just thinking about how nice this is,” Quinn mumbled as a response. Not the complete truth, but still the truth.

“It is, isn’t it,” Brittany muttered vaguely. “I could get used to this.”

“I think we all could,” Quinn replied. She looked at her watch. “Maybe we should make our way back soon, we’ve been out here for a while.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Santana said, groaning as she sat up. The others were about to get up too when they heard a voice.

“Hey, look what I found!” It was Sam. Puck emerged from behind one of the bushes and stood next to him.

“What is it?” Puck asked, curious.

“It’s a shirt,” Sam replied. “It looks like it has a lot of dry blood on it, ooh, it could be the killer’s!” he sounded way too excited to be finding a bloody shirt.

The three girls were also getting curious. If it really belonged to the killer, they could identify whose shirt it was, and then they could take them out. Now. They would not have to worry about any more murders, they could sleep in peace, and they could find a way out eventually, call the authorities who would take the rotting bodies at the far side of the garden and give them the burial and closure they deserved.

“Who’s is it?” Santana called as they got close to the two boys.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Sam said, flipping the shirt a few times. “The bloodstains cover most of the shirt and it’s already kind of ripped from being in the bushes. I’d say that this shirt was discarded when Rachel was murdered.”

When Santana got close enough to see the shirt closely her blood ran cold.

“Brittany,” she stuttered. “Isn’t that yours?” she said, pointing at the bloody shirt.

“Huh?” Brittany simply looked confused. She took the shirt out of Sam’s hands and checked it a few times. “Doesn’t look familiar to me.”

“I swear you were wearing the exact same shirt a few days ago,” Santana said fearfully.

“Huh,” Brittany said. She flipped it inside out so that she could see the markings a little better, as the bloodstains weren’t as serious on the other side. “I can see why you’d think this was my shirt. It’s quite similar. I’ve got the one you’re thinking of in the closet upstairs. It’s not mine.”

“Thank god,” Santana sighed in relief. “I really thought it was yours, Britt,”

Brittany laughed. “Mine? Who do you take me for? I think you should give me more credit, Santana.”

Puck scowled, however. “Who else could this shirt belong to, then?”

“It could be Rachel’s, I guess. Explains all the bloodstains and the rips. Her shirt could’ve just been thrown in here,” Brittany suggested.

“But Rachel had her shirt on when we found her,” Puck persisted.

“Maybe she was wearing two?” Quinn suggested.

“No one wears two shirts in their sleep,” Puck growled. “Brittany, I have my eyes on you,” with that, he left. Sam shot Brittany an apologetic look and quickly ran off to follow Puck.

“Sam really needs to get over this crush on you,” Santana grumbled.

“I don’t really care. No need to feel insecure, San, you’re the only one for me,” Brittany reassured, eliciting a smile from the brunette. “What should I do with this shirt?” she asked, holding it up. A few flies followed its path.

“Throw it in the bin, it’s a bit manky,” Santana wrinkled her nose. Brittany nodded and made her way towards the house.

“You really think it’s Brittany’s shirt?” Quinn asked as they started to follow the tall blonde.

“I’m not sure. It looks a lot like one of Brittany’s shirts, though,” Santana replied, unsure. “Although it could be one of the boys’. Hell, it could also be Sam’s, as he was the one who found it and we didn’t find it after four hours yesterday. I’m still going to ask her to get the shirt that looks like the one in the bushes from the closet when we go upstairs, though. I’m kind of worried, Q. What if it really is her? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” Santana rambled.

“If it is her, then we’ll have to kill her, won’t we, to save the rest of the people here,” Quinn said gravely. Santana gulped. “But I don’t think it’s her.” Quinn finished.

“It better not be,” Santana mumbled nervously.

***

“I’m a bit hungry,” Brittany stated as they walked through the kitchen. “Should we get some food?”

“Um, yeah, sure,” Quinn said distractedly. “Let’s just get some biscuits and we can go upstairs, okay?”

“Can’t we stay down here?” Brittany frowned. “I want to eat more than just biscuits.”

“Sure, I guess,” Quinn replied. “What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t really know,” Brittany mumbled as she flipped through the fridge. “There isn’t really anything I want in here,”

“Well, we’ll get some biscuits for now, and we can come down for lunch a bit later, okay?” Santana suggested. Brittany thought for a moment.

“Okay,” she conceded, and Quinn went into the pantry to get a pack of custard creams and led the way upstairs. The trio walked single file up the stairs, and into their room after Brittany unlocked it with the key that she had kept in her pocket.

As soon as the door closed behind them Santana faced Brittany, who was innocently munching on a biscuit.

“Britt, you mind taking out the shirt you were talking about earlier?” Santana asked. Brittany stopped munching on her custard cream and looked at Santana to meet her eyes.

“Why?” she asked back with a small furrow of her eyebrows.

“Because you said that the shirt that looked like the bloody one you just threw away was in the closet,” Santana replied.

“So?” Brittany's laconic replies were starting to irritate the Latina.

“So, I would like to see it, so that I know that you weren’t lying when you said that the shirt wasn’t yours!” Santana replied hotly.

“And if I said it was mine?” Brittany replied coolly.

“Well, I don’t know, but I seriously hope it isn’t yours,” Santana started.

“Or we’d have to kill you.” Quinn finished darkly, saying what Santana failed to say.

“Oh,” Brittany didn’t look bothered in the least. “Well, it’s not mine anyway,” she shrugged.

“Brittany, please just show me it, so that I can have some peace of mind,” Santana pleaded.

“Why? Do you not trust me? I said that it’s not mine. So it is _not mine_.” Brittany replied, starting to get irritated too at the brunette’s persistence.

“I do trust you, Britt, but if you really do have it, you wouldn’t have a problem showing me it,” Santana shot back exasperatedly.

“Are you kidding me?” Brittany growled. “Since when did I have to prove anything to you before? It doesn’t seem like you trust me, do you?”

Santana was also starting to get angry at Brittany’s deflections and her refusing to get the shirt. Was it because that the one she threw away really was the one she was wearing a few days ago? Santana really didn’t want to believe it, but could the killer really be Brittany?

“Of course I trust you,” Santana snarled. “But you are acting _very_ suspicious right now. Does that shirt even exist? Or was the one you threw away actually yours?”

“For fuck’s sake Santana, what kind of a girlfriend are you for suspecting the person you are supposed to _love_ for murder? I said repeatedly that it’s not mine. So it is not mine.” Brittany’s now electric blue eyes were blazing.

Quinn could see the warning signs now.

“Santana –” she warned, but Santana paid her no mind.

“So what if I think it is _you_ who killed _five_ people?” Santana exploded. “That bloody shirt was clearly yours, you not being able to show me the shirt that you said was in your closet literally rings every alarm bell in my head! You know what, Brittany? I actually think it’s you. You killed all of them. How could you? Why would you do that?” Santana shouted into Brittany’s face.

“Fuck you, Santana, it’s not me. I seem to remember a few years ago when we finally became public that you said that ‘without trust, we’re nothing’. You have no trust in me at all! Jack! Fine. You think I killed all those people? Who do you even think I am? Why the fuck would I even do it? I have no fucking motive!” Brittany stood up and walked closer, face flushed from anger, towering over Santana. From Quinn’s point of view, Brittany looked like she was going to hit Santana. Brittany looked absolutely murderous, dominating, and intimidating. It was nothing like her usual, bubbly self. It was quite a scary sight. Brittany’s forehead was nearly touching Santana’s when she spoke again.

“But, since you obviously don’t trust me, I guess that we’re nothing now, aren’t we?” Brittany hissed into Santana’s face, which to her credit was still standing defiantly under Brittany’s terrifying glare. The tall blonde broke the stare and walked swiftly towards the closet. She ruffled for a few seconds, before finding what she needed. “There. Proof. Sometimes, you just have to open your fucking eyes to consider the possibility that I was telling the truth the whole fucking time.” She threw the shirt that she just got from the closet harshly into Santana’s face. “I’m not the murderer. Can’t believe that you can even think that I was. Fuck you, Santana, fuck you. We’re through.” With that, she took large, heavy strides and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Santana and Quinn stood in silence for about a minute.

“Is that the shirt she was wearing a few days ago?” Quinn asked tentatively. Santana flipped the shirt in her hands.

“Yes, it is,” she whispered. Tears sprung to her eyes. “God, I’m so stupid. Why didn’t I just believe her?”

“Hey, you couldn’t have known,” Quinn said, trying to salvage the situation.

“S-She broke up with me,” Santana gasped, dumbfounded. “She broke up with me,” she repeated, starting to sob now.

“Don’t worry about it, San. She loves you, okay? She’ll come around,” Quinn reassured. Santana just cried harder and fell onto Quinn’s shoulders, where Quinn wrapped her arms around the brunette in a tight hug.

“She won’t,” Santana wept into Quinn’s shoulder. “I really screwed up. I shouldn’t have said that it was her,”

“She will, San. Don’t you worry. This is the time when we all need each other. She’ll be back before you know it,” Quinn whispered.

“I’m a fucking idiot!” Santana shouted, angry at herself. “Why did I push her? I already knew she was emotionally unstable. Why did I do it? Now she’s not my girlfriend anymore. She hates me,” Santana wailed loudly. Quinn didn’t know what to do. But Brittany couldn’t be alone out in the house, she would be in danger. Except in her state, whoever is out to get her is probably in more danger than Brittany is in. But still, Quinn could not risk it. She had to try to tame the irate Brittany and bring her back before it’s too late.

“I’m going to find her, okay? I’ll bring her back. I’ll be back really soon, okay?” Quinn said to Santana, who wasn’t even bothering to wipe away her tears now, as it just kept coming.

“But you’ll be alone, Quinn,” Santana wheezed. “And so will I.”

“Put a chair behind the door, okay? I’ll be fine. Brittany is really important to us. I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay,” Santana croaked. Quinn gave her one last reassuring rub on the back before she briskly left the room as well.

Santana crumpled to her knees and buried her head in her hands. She may have just lost the best thing that happened to her.

***

Quinn was a bit scared. Before she had no problem being alone because she had the knife to protect her. However, now that the knife had been taken from her by Mike, Tina, and Mercedes, she was kind of defenceless. This made Quinn very jumpy and made her all the more determined to find Brittany as soon as possible. She didn’t find Brittany in any of the rooms that she could get into upstairs, so she figured that Brittany had gone downstairs. Quinn was a bit tentative in going down the stairs because that would mean that she might have to face other people, and she didn’t think that she was ready for that yet.

However, her first encounter came before she even managed to go down the stairs. Sam emerged into her sight and slowed her down.

“What you doing here alone, Quinn?” Sam asked. His voice wasn’t predatory, but Quinn didn’t really want to trust anyone right now, especially Sam as he had been a bit suspicious recently, so she really didn’t want to engage in this conversation.

“Let me go, Sam,” Quinn ordered calmly, trying to barge her way through him, who was acting as a barricade to the staircase.

“Hey, easy tiger, I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam offered a comforting smile. “I just want to know.”

“Well, you tell me. Why are _you_ alone? Where’s Puck?”

“I thought I heard something outside my room so I came out to investigate. Puck just went downstairs to get us some food,” Sam answered. He sounded genuine, so Quinn believed him. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Santana and Brittany?”

“Brittany just went downstairs,” Quinn replied, not telling the whole truth. “I’m just going down to get her.”

“Why did she go downstairs alone?” Sam frowned.

“Who knows?” Quinn shrugged, not wanting to divulge any information concerning her and Santana’s relationship to Sam, as she was aware of Sam’s crush on the tall blonde. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go, I need to find her,” Quinn said, becoming a bit more frantic, as if what Sam said was true, Puck was downstairs with Brittany. Alone. That would probably not go down so well.

Sam seemed to be thinking the same thing. “You know what? Let me come with you. You look like you need some company anyway, and I can also get some more food from the pantry.”

Quinn didn’t exactly like the idea of Sam tagging along with her, but Sam could be very stubborn, and if she argued she would most likely just be wasting time.

“Okay,” she relented. “Now will you let me pass?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam stepped to the side, letting Quinn walk down the stairs. Sam then followed closely behind her.

***

When Brittany slammed the door behind her, she tried really hard to control her anger. If she was going to be honest, she hated having these episodes, it normally led to her doing things that she regretted. Maybe she overreacted and shouldn’t have broken up with Santana, but that doesn’t make what Santana assumed about her okay. Brittany was still really mad at her, even though her explosive wrath has diminished somewhat and she was able to breathe normally again.

Brittany decided that she needed some water to cool herself down. So she started to walk down the stairs. She could hear Santana’s wails from the staircase and that made her feel a little bad, but she wasn’t going to let Santana off the hook this easily. After all, Santana didn’t trust her, and that really hurt.

As Brittany walked down the final steps of the stairs and was reaching the ground floor, a thought struck her mind. She had broken the rules that Santana had created about sticking together at all times. Yes, Santana has her best interests at heart, but right now? Screw her. She could be alone if she wanted to. It wasn’t like the murderer was going to jump her or anything. Brittany wasn’t scared at all. She would be down here for a short while anyway. She’ll get some water, probably some more snacks as well, and make her way back upstairs. She didn’t exactly want to face the brunette, but she didn’t want her and Quinn to worry.

She got herself a cup of water and started to dig in the pantry. She saw a bar of chocolate on the far side so she reached deep inside to get it. She also saw some packaged brioches so she decided to get them as well. There were also a few cans of coke. She already had water, but she could get the coke and drink it later upstairs. Items now in hand, Brittany found that she didn’t want to go upstairs yet. So she decided to drink the water and eat the food alone at the dining table, and when she has cooled down enough and finished eating, she would then go back to her room.

However, things didn’t go to plan.

Brittany had got a few bites of the brioche and sipped the water a few times before Puck walked into the room. Brittany didn’t really know where Puck could’ve come from, he seemed to appear out of nowhere as she didn’t hear him walk down the stairs or see him anywhere downstairs either.

“Hey,” Brittany mumbled, mouth full of bread so her voice sounded muffled.

“What are you doing down here, _alone_?” Puck’s tone was bellicose, challenging, dangerous. Brittany met his eyes. His eyes were dark and seemed to be swirling.

“Eating,” Brittany simply replied. She wasn’t really in the mood for a conversation.

“Eating, are we?” Puck grinned. “Interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brittany growled.

“No, just a little interesting that you are wandering around the house, alone, the fact that the knife was in _your_ drawer and the fact that the bloody shirt belonged to you,” Puck drawled. “Kind of only means one thing, doesn’t it? Use that pea-sized brain of yours to figure it out, Brittany.”

“For fuck’s sake, Noah, I told you a million times. That shirt does not belong to me.” Brittany stated clearly.

“Ah, of course you would say that. Then, answer this, who else’s could it be?” Puck smirked. But before Brittany had a chance to answer, he spoke again. “No one’s. That’s the answer. So, that only means one thing. You are the killer, Brittany. Why else would the knife be in your drawer? I didn’t want to believe it at first. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re wrong in the head. You’re a fucking psychopath. Wouldn’t be a stretch to say you killed them all, huh?”

“I’m bipolar, Noah, I’m not a psychopath,” Brittany said angrily.

“Oh, so you don’t deny that you’re the killer, huh? Well, guess what, princess? I’m going to end you.” Puck said so calmly it was chilling.

“I’m not the killer, Noah,” Brittany said firmly.

“No, of course you’re not,” Puck scoffed sarcastically. “But you are at the same time. Believe me when I say this Brittany, but I am not going to let you hurt any more people.”

Puck lunged towards the table and threw a punch with his right fist towards Brittany’s face, with as much power as he could muster. Brittany managed to avoid most damage by moving out of the way, but the fist still connected solidly with Brittany’s left cheek, and Brittany fell out of her chair with the force of the punch. Puck’s hand really hurt, so he shook it a few times to relieve the waves of pain.

Brittany was on the ground, clutching her left cheek with both hands, as even though she didn’t experience the full power of the punch it still really hurt.

“What the fuck?” Brittany snarled, her face feeling like it was on fire.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Puck smiled. Before Brittany could question what he meant, he landed a hard kick on Brittany’s stomach. She curled up in agony, one hand now off her face and clutching her stomach.

“Not so strong now, are you, _killer_?” Puck said lazily, kicking Brittany again, who let out a wail as Puck’s foot connected with her stomach again, along with the hand that was covering it.

“I’m not the killer,” Brittany grunted through her rapid breaths.

“No? But you are. You just won’t admit it,” Puck sighed, before crouching down so that he was closer to Brittany on the floor.

“You can’t beat me into confession,” Brittany groaned. “Because even then it wouldn’t be true.”

“That’s right,” Puck said icily. “So I will end you now.” With that, he jumped onto Brittany and straddled her. Brittany was quite strong, as she was a dancer and a cheerleader, but she had been weakened by Puck’s premature blows, so Puck was easily able to overpower her.

Puck placed both his hands around Brittany’s throat and pressed down. Hard.

Brittany’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she started to feel very dizzy. Her throat really hurt, her whole body really hurt, she couldn’t breathe, but she wouldn’t go out without a fight. Not when things with Santana were left like that.

Brittany spluttered as she fought against Puck. She kicked, punched, scratched, but Puck didn’t weaken his hold on Brittany’s throat. He was so close to killing her. There would be no more murders, they could just live in peace now. This would be the murder to end all murders.

Brittany was losing energy. Her movements became sluggish, and the attempts she did at hurting Puck didn’t hurt as much anymore. However, before Puck could finish, someone punched him square across the jaw. That made him lose his grip on Brittany’s throat. He spun around in pure fury, seeing who punched him and prevented him from killing her.

Sam.

Quinn pulled Brittany far away from the reach of Puck, while Sam just punched Puck again so that Puck wasn’t in a state to fight anymore.

“What the actual fuck, Noah!” Sam screamed. “You can’t just _strangle_ her! What gives you the right?”

“She is the killer,” Puck snarled. “If you let me choke her a minute longer then no one else would have to die.”

“You don’t know that!” Quinn screamed from next to Brittany at the other side of the room. “What if she wasn’t the murderer? You realise that you just became a murderer yourself, Noah?”

“That bitch is the killer!” Puck roared. “She was alone, probably scouting for victims, her bloody shirt was in the bushes, she’s a fucking psychopath!”

“Brittany was only alone because she broke up with Santana!” Quinn screamed back. “That shirt wasn’t hers either! The one that Santana thought it was is still in her closet! You fucking murderer Noah! I’m going to kill you!”

Puck actually looked apologetic. “She is still really suspicious,” he said. “I just thought that she –”

“No! You nearly killed her! Someone who could be _innocent_!” Sam shouted. “How would that make you feel, if people continued to get murdered after you killed her? Someone who is your _friend_?”

“Just because you still have this stupid crush on her –” Puck started.

“No, fuck you Noah, stop holding that against me, that has _nothing_ to do with this,” Sam seethed. “Go upstairs.” Puck didn’t move. “NOW!” This time, Puck got up and trudged off towards the staircase.

Sam turned towards Quinn, who was cradling Brittany in her lap. “I’ll go get some ice,”

“Thanks Sam,” Quinn mustered up a smile before turning back to Brittany.

“I swear I’m not the killer,” Brittany croaked, tears falling out her eyes. “I’m not.”

“I know,” Quinn said confidently. “Do you want to come upstairs?”

“Yeah, I need to lie down,” Brittany seemed to be using a lot of effort to talk. “It hurts so much,”

“Sam’s just gone to get some ice,” Quinn said, gazing at the purple marks on Brittany’s throat. “Puck is such a bastard. I’m gonna get him. I’m gonna make him pay.”

Brittany didn’t have the energy to respond. Luckily, Sam came back at this moment with ice. A lot of ice.

“Are you taking her upstairs?” Sam asked. Quinn nodded. “Do you need help carrying her?”

“Yeah, actually I do. Do you mind?” Quinn replied. Sam shook his head. “Alright,” she was now addressing Brittany. “Let’s get you upstairs and patch you up, shall we?”

Brittany nodded weakly.

***

As soon as their bedroom door opened, Santana, who had now stopped crying and was sitting on the bed, stood up instantly.

“Brittany?” Santana called out timorously. Quinn walked into the room, holding a limping Brittany who instantly collapsed on the floor as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Oh my god, what happened to her?” Santana asked, tears springing up in her eyes again.

“Puck beat her up,” Quinn replied sadly. “He thinks that Brittany is the killer, just like you,” Quinn added with an angry glare. “So he tried to choke her to death so that everyone could just live in peace.”

“Puck, that bastard!” Santana seethed. “I’m going to kill him!”

“That’s what I said,” Quinn laughed mirthlessly. Santana rushed forward and crouched beside Brittany. She looked horrible and that just made Santana’s heart ache so much. Her left cheek was swollen, there were all kinds of nasty purple markings on her neck, and also some long, red scratches around her body that probably came with the brawl.

“Britt,” Santana sobbed, cradling her face. Brittany’s eyes were closed, but they twitched a little when she heard Santana’s voice. “I’m so sorry.” Santana didn’t really know what to say. How could she convey what she felt into words?

Brittany’s eyes opened slightly, and her blue eyes were really dull, tired. “Please go away Santana,” she rasped. “I don’t want to see you right now.”

“But Britt, you’re hurt, I wanna help,” Santana pled.

“I said go away Santana,” Brittany growled, a little louder this time. She then coughed twice. “Don’t think that because I got my ass kicked that I’ve forgiven you.”

Santana bowed her head. “Okay,” she whispered. “If that’s what you want.” She reluctantly backed away and sat back on the bed.

“I’m going to put some ice packs on you, Britt, okay?” Quinn muttered soothingly. Brittany nodded vaguely and Quinn pressed an ice pack on Brittany’s throat. She hissed slightly at the coldness but quickly settled. Quinn then lifted up Brittany’s shirt and placed another ice pack on the angry, green bruises that was on her abdomen. She then held up another ice pack and pressed it to Brittany’s face and kept it there.

Brittany sighed. “I kind of want to go to sleep, Quinn. Can you take me to the bed?” she requested.

Quinn nodded. “Of course, Britt.” With effort, Quinn lifted the tall blonde up in her arms and put her on the bed, where Santana quickly vacated and moved out of the way. Quinn tucked Brittany into the covers and put the ice packs back on her injured areas. Brittany sighed in contentment and started to doze off.

Quinn sighed and sat on a chair near the bed, arms aching slightly with the effort it took to carry the tall blonde.

“This is all my fault,” Santana said shakily. “If I didn’t make her mad none of this would’ve ever happened.”

“Do not blame yourself for this, Santana Lopez,” Quinn chastised. “This is no one’s fault other than Puck’s.”

Upon the mention of Puck’s name, Santana stiffened. “I swear to god I will get my revenge on him,” she seethed. “How dare he hurt her? Fucking pervy son of a bitch.”

“I know, Santana. I want to get revenge on him too,” Quinn replied. “But I don’t know how to. It’s not like we can beat him up, he’ll just overpower the both of us.”

“I want to kill him,” Santana said firmly. “He’s been nothing but a dick to us these days. He’s fucking toxic. He’s a menace.”

“I don’t know about that, Santana,” Quinn said carefully. “If you killed him wouldn’t you become a murderer too?”

“You wanna know something?” Santana asked rhetorically. “At this point, I don’t even think it matters.”

Quinn simply looked ahead thoughtfully. “Me neither, Santana. Me neither.”

***

“Wanna get some dinner, Britt?” Quinn asked, brushing a tendril of blonde hair from Brittany’s face.

“Yeah,” she said groggily, rubbing her eyes. “That would be nice.” Then a thought popped into her head. “How are these ice packs still cold? How long have I been sleeping?”

“A couple of hours,” Quinn replied. “I changed the ice packs a few times so that your wounds get better.”

“Thank you Quinn,” Brittany smiled. “You’re a great friend, you know that?”

Quinn blushed. “Well, I am pretty awesome,” she replied jokingly. Brittany playfully slapped Quinn’s arm.

Santana was watching their interactions from a distance. She didn’t really know what she was feeling, it was like a mixture of many different emotions. Sadness? Anger? Jealousy? What Santana knew is how much she wanted to be in Quinn’s position right now, making Brittany laugh and tending to her injuries, making her feel better. In fact, she would be in that position if she hadn’t been so stupid earlier. In fact, if she hadn’t been so stupid earlier none of this would’ve ever happened. Brittany would never have got beaten up.

“Come get some food with me?” Quinn asked Santana. Santana didn’t really want Quinn to go downstairs alone, and she didn’t feel comfortable being alone in the room with her ex-girlfriend, so she nodded. “Okay,” Quinn said. She turned to Brittany. “Stay here, okay? We’ll be right back with some food.”

“Not like I’ll be going anywhere,” Brittany laughed and it made Santana’s heart twinge a little more. “You mind locking the door behind you? The key is in my drawer.”

“Sure thing,” Quinn smiled. She got out the key and left the room. Santana followed her.

“I just want her to talk to me again,” Santana whispered as Quinn locked the door behind her.

“Just give her time,” Quinn replied. “She’ll come around.”

“Will she though?” Santana said worriedly as they descended down the stairs. “She wouldn’t even look at me anymore.”

“I don’t think that you should worry. Right now, let’s just get some food and get the hell away from here,” Quinn suggested as they walked into the kitchen.

Santana sighed. “Good idea. I don’t want to stay here too long anyway.”

***

It was now late at night and Brittany had still not said a single word to Santana. She was sat at the bedroom desk, sipping on a can of coke. Quinn and Santana watched her from a distance.

“I just wish that she would talk to me,” Santana said to Quinn, but she made sure that Brittany heard her. Brittany, however, ignored her and continued to languidly drink more coke.

“It hurts for her to talk,” Quinn explained. “Which is why she’s not talking much at all.”

“Oh,” Santana sounded defeated. “I guess that makes sense. But I just want her to acknowledge me.”

“She’s still mad at you Santana. Just give her a bit more time,” Quinn said.

“But how much time does she need?” Santana cried. “In this house, any day could be your last. I just want to patch things up and apologise to her!”

“You guys can talk tomorrow. We’ll be fine tonight, okay? Let her wounds heal a little more, and then you guys can talk it out.”

“Okay,” Santana sighed, relenting.

Brittany had been listening to the whole exchange between Santana and Quinn. What Quinn said about her not talking because it hurt, wasn’t exactly right, but Brittany didn’t care to correct her. Brittany didn’t want to talk to Santana, simply because she didn’t want to. Granted, talking did hurt a little so Quinn was right to some extent, but Brittany was already feeling a lot better and if she didn’t touch the bruises it didn’t hurt. She was able to walk now without limping and breathe without wincing. Guess some sleep really helps the healing process, doesn’t it?

The three girls sat in silence for a few more minutes.

“Quinn,” Brittany spoke up. She was speaking quietly, partly because the house was pretty much silent so she didn’t need to, and she didn’t want to strain her throat more than necessary. “I’m going to sleep now. You mind if I sleep in your sleeping bag?”

“But I thought that we were all going to sleep on the bed today,” Quinn said, frowning slightly.

“Ah, yes, but I changed my mind. I don’t really want you to worsen my bruises overnight as you might kick it or something. Plus, I don’t really want to sleep with Santana right now.” Brittany stated monotonously.

“Okay,” Quinn sighed. “If that’s what you want. The sleeping bag isn’t very comfortable, though.”

“You survived, didn’t you?” Quinn nodded, which evoked a small smile to appear on Brittany’s face. “Then I’ll be fine.” With that, she got up and tucked herself into Quinn’s sleeping bag.

As Brittany closed her eyes, Santana suddenly piped up.

“I just want to say, Britt, that I am really sorry. I really shouldn’t have accused you of those… deeds, I don’t actually think it’s you. I freaked out because I was scared, you know? And when you refused to get the shirt, my mind just jumped to the worst scenario and I went crazy. I hope that you can understand?”

Brittany lay in Quinn’s sleeping bag, unmoving, eyes still closed. It seemed like she was asleep, but no one could fall asleep that fast, right?

“Please just forgive me, Britt. Especially after what happened today with Puck, I-I can’t lose you. I love you too much for that. Please?”

Brittany’s eye twitched before she opened them. “Please just shut up, I want to sleep,” she said coldly before her eyes flickered closed again.

Defeated and humiliated, Santana made her way back to Quinn again. “She hates me now,” Santana whispered brokenly.

“She doesn’t. Trust me. She’ll be back in your arms tomorrow.” Quinn reassured.

“I really hope you’re right,” Santana croaked.

Later, Santana cried silently into Quinn’s shoulder in her bed until she ran out of tears. She fell asleep because she was too exhausted to stay awake.

“Only she could make you cry like that,” Quinn mumbled into Santana’s hair. “I wish someone would cry like that for me.” Quinn fell asleep soon after that.

~

Now I know that I may have been slightly unmotivated when I killed Kurt and Blaine yesterday, but I don’t really know what I was thinking.

Because I don’t really understand how I could not gain any form of satisfaction killing one person. And I didn’t even kill one person. I killed two! Should’ve been like, what, double the pleasure.

Anyway, we’ve just got to move on. I am going to get another one today.

Who is my victim today? I’ll kill Tina.

Tina, the goth. Tina the “shy” girl with the fake stutter. Tina, you’re just… Tina. Honestly, you annoy me.

I’m excited.

How would I get her alone, when Tina sleeps in shifts? She is on lookout duty from 1 am to 4 am. Well, that’s not a problem. She is supposed to keep her group safe. But that just means that she’s exposed herself.

Take out the lookout, and I can celebrate with a nice hefty chunk of meat that I saved up these past few days for this special occasion.

Hey, I deserve it, okay? The food I’ve been eating these past few days have been miserable.

So, getting to her is not the problem. The problem is how I’m going to kill her.

Should I use my knife? Nah, I’ll switch things up today. After all, I need variety to keep me going.

But how? I don’t really feel like using my bare hands today.

I could drown her in the toilet or something. But, come on, I have dignity. The toilet is gross! Who knows what horrors lie beneath?

You know what? Normally complicated murders don’t end so well. Difficult to clean, I could get caught. I’ll keep it simple.

I’ll just hit her in the head and she can just perish.

Tina should definitely be up by now, if she is actually following instructions and doing her shift. She’s obedient, so I have no doubts that she would be watching for any dangers. Unfortunately for you, you will never see me coming. You’ll die, in your room, before you have the chance to say “bacon”.

I go downstairs to get a baseball bat. If I had my way, I would use something more sophisticated, like, what, a hammer used in the Olympics or something? Oh, come on, don’t judge me. I don’t like being judged.

I do find one eventually. It was in the cupboard with the other sports tools. I guess I could also use a hockey stick, tennis racket… nah. I’ll stick with the good old baseball bat.

Now, I know her group is very careful and would most likely lock the door, so I probably need a key. Hopefully, they didn’t barricade the door or something.

I make my way towards the kitchen and dig through the drawer under the sink. I flip through every single key and I don’t find one. Did they take both of them? They probably did, to be honest. Or someone else took their keys. Nah, it’s probably the former. Well, I guess I have to pick the lock by hand then.

I don’t really want to use my hands right now. But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?

I take out a paperclip from the stationery drawer and I walk upstairs again, baseball bat hanging loosely off my left hand.

It takes me a bit longer to pick their lock, like ten minutes, but I do it eventually. It’s quite difficult to make the lock picking quiet, but I did it to the best of my ability. I try to push the door open. Fuck. They barricaded it.

What could’ve they used? I don’t remember there being a sofa inside their room or something massive last time I saw it, so it shouldn’t be impossible to get in.

If I can’t, then I guess I would have to start killing in the daytime. That’s not ideal, but it could be done. Everyone is just too careful at night.

I try to push the door open and I fail again. What if they put a chair under the handle? That would make it very difficult. Very difficult indeed.

But they didn’t. I take a risk and push as hard as I could. If it makes a noise and wakes people up, I’ll make a run for it. Tina will find out when she hears a noise, she will either come for me, in which case, great, let her come. Or she would wake the others up and I will run. Hopefully, she chooses the former.

The door still didn’t budge. But I made a noise. Shit. Tina will definitely know now.

Judging by the footsteps getting louder, she has decided to come for me alone. Hopefully. I have no guarantee. Fight or flight?

No, I need this kill, for my sanity. I’ll stay.

The door opens abruptly and I nearly lose my footing. A knife is launched straight at my face. I barely see it before I move to the right and the knife misses me by an inch. Fuck, that was too close. But it didn’t work. Unlucky. You are going to pay for your miss, Tina. You don’t have a weapon anymore.

Easy.

I lunge forward and strike Tina clean across the face with the bat. She falls unceremoniously. She may not be dead yet, however. I step forward, into the room, and slam the bat again into her face. A dull thud and a crack tell me that I have cracked her head open. Even if she was sent to the hospital now, they wouldn’t be able to save her.

Job done.

Sighing, I close the door behind them as quietly as I could. Hopefully, Tina isn’t found dead until morning. Let’s put the bat back.

I make my way downstairs and wash the bat a bit. Come on, I can’t have blood on it, can I?

You know what? I’ll leave it in the lounge to dry. No one goes there anymore, and it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like anyone would be looking for a baseball bat anyway.

I was walking through the lounge when I trip over something.

Wait, what?

There’s a body on the floor.

I crouch down and examine. It is Puck, sprawled across the floor. It was dark, but I could still see the puddle of blood surrounding him. The blood was starting to dry. This must have happened a while ago.

Is he dead?

He can’t possibly be alive. He got smashed in the head many times. Probably by glassware, judging by the amount of broken glass around him.

This isn’t good. I didn’t kill him.

There’s a second killer.


	8. Day 7

Brittany woke up, groaning, as her back hurt so much. Her head was also pounding, and it hurt slightly when she moved or breathed. She shifted and turned her head, so that it was no longer lying on the pillow, expecting to hit the soft mattress. However, her head met the cold wooden floor. Brittany frowned in confusion and sat up, with some effort. She rubbed her eyes to get rid of the remaining sleep in her system and shifted again so that her body was in a more comfortable position. It was at this moment that she realised that she was sleeping on the floor, in Quinn’s sleeping bag to be precise. At first, she was bewildered as to why she was sleeping there, but after a few seconds of thought, everything that happened the day before came rushing back to her.

She still couldn’t believe that she broke up with Santana. She needed to make things right again. As soon as possible. Yes, she did feel hurt by Santana’s lack of trust in her, but Santana was just worried and scared. Still, she had no right accusing her of murder. That was just unacceptable. However, what Brittany did was not okay either. She had given Santana the silent treatment for the rest of the day, only speaking up to tell her to shut up and go away when Santana was so desperately trying to apologise to her.

Yes, Santana was the one apologising yesterday and seeking forgiveness, but will Santana forgive her? Brittany really hoped that she hadn’t ruined what they had because she fell victim to her lack of emotional control. A decade of close friendship with the brunette couldn’t be destroyed in the space of one day, right? Brittany didn’t think so, but she was still worried. To be honest, with the way she acted the day before, she deserved to get totalled by Puck. She was a bitch. She didn’t like her yesterday self at all. If she could slap herself, she would, but her left cheek still throbbed every now and then, so she refrained from doing so as she didn’t want to worsen her injuries.

Brittany crawled her way out of Quinn’s sleeping bag. She still didn’t understand how Quinn managed to go through nearly a week of sleeping on the floor. It really kills your back! Brittany decided that Quinn would be sleeping in the bed from now on. Not that she had the right to kick her out, anyway. Brittany walked towards the bed, where Santana was curled up against Quinn’s chest. It was an intimate position; Brittany had to fight herself to not feel jealous, because as much as she hated to admit it, she no longer had any claim to the brunette, and that makes her heart hurt so much. Upon closer inspection, she could see that Santana had dried tear tracks on her face, and there was a dark stain on Quinn’s shirt, around the shoulder area. Santana must have cried herself to sleep last night. The bare thought of it made Brittany want to cry herself.

She walked to the other side of the bed, where Santana was at, and meekly tucked herself into the covers. She wrapped her arms around the brunette, pressing her front flush against Santana’s back. Brittany was really nervous. She didn’t know when Santana would wake up, but when she did, would Santana reject her? It would really break her heart if she did. Brittany could not fathom the heartbreak that Santana must have felt the whole of yesterday. She felt really guilty, making her all the more desperate to patch things up with her ex-girlfriend, and if she was lucky, become her girlfriend again. After all, she had forgiven Santana and really regretted her rash break up with her first and only love.

Santana was starting to stir when she felt arms wrap around her. She just had a pretty bad dream, and her eyes hurt from all the crying she did the night before. At first, she was confused as to who had arms wrapped around her. At first, she thought it was Quinn as it couldn’t have been Brittany, as she was sleeping on the floor. However, she could see Quinn’s sleeping face right in front of her, and whoever was spooning her was behind her. This meant that it could’ve only been one person: Brittany. The thought that it was her made her nervous. Brittany was so angry at her yesterday. Santana could not think of a reason why she would wake up to be in between her two best friends in bed. Except maybe Brittany wanted to make up with her, but Santana didn’t want to get her hopes up, in case she got disappointed. She flipped so that she was facing the person behind her, and the sight of bright blue eyes that she had seen and loved a million times in her lifetime confirmed that it was Brittany.

“Morning,” Brittany breathed. Santana looked into Brittany’s eyes and tried to not get lost in it as she found it so enchanting, so captivating. Santana was surprised, however, to see that they were swirling with feelings that she could read like a book: this time it was fear, anxiety, nervousness.

“Hey,” Santana whispered back. Their faces were so close. Santana really wanted to just lean forward and capture the blonde’s lips with hers, but she was scared of getting rejected.

Brittany’s eyes flickered downwards, her face of an expression that Santana perceived to be shame. “I’m really sorry,” Brittany mumbled.

“Of what?” Santana questioned.

“I really hurt you yesterday. It’s all I seem to do nowadays. I hurt people,” Brittany said, penitent. “I’m really angry at myself for what I did to you yesterday. Now I don’t expect immediate forgiveness, but I just want you to know that I regret what I did with all of my heart. I understand that you were just worried, and I shouldn’t have been so stubborn, and I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that, I shouldn’t have –” Brittany started to ramble and Santana decided to cut her off.

“It’s fine,” Santana said. “What I accused you of was really out of line, and I really shouldn’t doubt you. I understand why you reacted the way you did, really I do. And I’m really sorry that I got you hurt, Brittany. If I didn’t make you mad, you wouldn’t have encountered Puck, and you wouldn’t be beaten up like that.”

“It’s not your fault, and no, what I did was not fine, and I am still kicking myself for the things I said yesterday. You tried to apologise, and I just told you to go away. I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt for you to hear that, San. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Brittany said reverently, voice no louder than a whisper.

“It’s okay, Britt,” Santana replied, and Brittany’s glazed eyes flickered upwards again to meet Santana’s gaze.

“I’ve forgiven you for your accusation yesterday, just so you know. In retrospect, I was acting really suspicious. I fully understand why you had your doubts.” Brittany said.

“Just for the record, I know for a fact it’s not you, Britt. I never thought it was,” Santana replied.

“Yeah,” Brittany’s eyes flickered down again. But soon, her eyes met the brunette’s. “I was just wondering, and it’s perfectly fine if you say no, but, um, would you like to be my girlfriend again?” she asked nervously.

“Yes,” Santana smiled in relief. “I’m so glad, Britt. You got me so scared yesterday.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” Brittany muttered in shame.

“Don’t apologise anymore, Britt, I’ve already forgiven you,” Santana answered.

Brittany looked at Santana timidly. “I really want to kiss you right now,” she whispered. Santana smiled and leaned forward to kiss Brittany as a response. They kissed innocently, no tongue, for a few moments before Santana realised that Brittany was crying.

“Britt, why are you crying?” Santana asked, pulling away. She wiped a few tears away with her thumb.

“They’re happy tears,” Brittany replied. “I just feel so lucky that you’re here, and the fact that you put up with me. I don’t think I say enough how much I love you, Santana. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Britt,” Santana whispered back sincerely before locking their lips again. Their kisses became more passionate and fervent, and soon they were making guttural moans into each other’s mouths.

Quinn smirked as she heard the smacking and slapping sounds of lips upon another right next to her. She had heard the whole exchange. While she found it all really sweet and endearing and she was really happy that her best friends made up with each other, she felt wistful that she may never find the chance to find love. The thought really scared her, so she had been praying every night for whichever god that would listen that she made it out alive. But, judging by the rapidly decreasing population in the house, it was looking more and more unlikely with each passing night. When would she be next? Quinn tried really hard not to be scared. If she was living the last days of her life, she didn’t want to live them in fear. She guessed that spending them with her best friends wouldn’t be that bad. Although she would never experience the tortuous experience of love, and the amount of happiness that it would bring along with it.

Quinn’s train of thought was broken by harsh rapping on the door. The girls next to her stopped their intimate kissing as well, straining their ears to see if the sound would come again.

The harsh knocking happened again.

“Should we open the door?” Brittany whispered.

“Who could it be?” Santana mumbled.

“Let me in please!” the voice from outside the door called. It sounded hysterical. If Brittany had to guess, it was Mike, though he was generally quite composed and calm so Brittany wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I think it’s Mike,” Brittany said. “Should we let him in?”

“Can we trust him?” Quinn asked dubiously.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy, I trust him,” Brittany replied. She looked to the two girls for permission.

“Yeah, okay, open the door,” Quinn said. Santana nodded. Brittany walked over and unlocked the door. As soon as it was open, Mike rushed into the room.

“Close the door please,” he gasped, face flushed and stricken. Brittany closed the door and locked it again.

“What’s wrong Mikey?” Brittany asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before.”

“Tina is dead,” he wept. “She got killed in our room. The killer knew her night shifts, they must have. Only Mercedes and I knew the shifts. That means that it must be… Mercedes,”

“Wait, hold up,” Santana stood up. “You think it’s Mercedes?” Mike nodded. “Huh. I guess that makes some sense. Did you see Mercedes yesterday? She was scary crazy. She directed all the suspicion to Britt because it was her. I think you’re onto something here Mike.”

“Also, the fact that Tina was killed in our room meant that someone from inside our room killed her. The defence in our room is impenetrable! We locked the door, secured the handle so it wouldn’t turn and put an armchair behind it. Plus we had shifts! The killer had no chance,” Mike explained.

“Well,” Quinn spoke up. “You say it is Mercedes because she is in your group, Mike. But you are also in Tina’s group. You were in the room when she was killed. How did you not hear anything? It could’ve been you.”

“Shut up Quinn,” Brittany snarled. “Why would Mike kill his girlfriend? Why would Mike kill anyone at all?”

“I’m just making a point,” Quinn shrugged. “Got to keep our eyes open to all possibilities.”

“No, it’s not me,” Mike sighed. “I would never do such a thing. I loved her so much. I would never kill her.”

“There you go, Quinn,” Brittany scowled. “However, I don’t think we should jump to conclusions that quickly yet. You said that Tina was killed in your room, right? Was the door unlocked?”

“I think it was,” Mike replied thoughtfully. “Also the armchair was put to the side, so the door was completely exposed.”

“Well, that could mean two things,” Brittany deducted. “Either Mercedes killed her and removed all security in your room to divert suspicion to herself, or it actually was someone else who tried to break in and Tina was naïve enough to open the door and tackle the killer herself.” Brittany thought for a moment more, then asked. “Where is the knife that you took from us?”

“I’ve got it right now,” Mike responded, holding up the knife that was hiding beneath his trousers. “But it was wedged into the wall just behind the entrance to our room. I think it was thrown from inside the room.”

“Hmm,” Brittany pondered. “That means that either Tina threw the knife as an attempt to kill the murderer, or Mercedes planted it there as a decoy. I’d say we keep our eyes open to all possibilities. I don’t think it’s you, Mike. It’s more likely to be Mercedes because Tina is smart and would never open the door, but it could also be someone else, like Puck or Sam.”

“Yeah, you make a good point,” Mike said. “I’ve never felt so angry and determined to get the killer until now. They won’t get away with it,” he continued, determined.

“Yeah, maybe we could work it out together,” Brittany suggested. “I think Puck and Sam are looking really fishy. You guys haven’t managed to get into their room yet, who knows what they’re doing in there. Maybe they’re accomplices.”

“Maybe,” Mike agreed hesitantly. “But I still don’t trust Mercedes. I’ve left the group.”

Brittany’s face lit up. “Really? That’s so great! You could join our group! We need brains in here!”

“Wait a second,” Quinn shouted before Mike could answer. “We are the Unholy Trinity. Not the Awesome Foursome or whatever we will become if Mike joins us. We are _not_ accepting another member.”

“Why not?” Brittany pouted. “Mike will be really useful for us. He could help us figure out an escape.”

“No,” Quinn said firmly. “For all we know, this could be a trap. Mike has a knife with him. He could just cut us open right now and we can’t do anything about it.”

“He’s not going to do that, Quinn,” Brittany frowned.

“I don’t trust him. I’m sorry Mike, but you’re not welcome here. If you’re here, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night,” Quinn said adamantly.

“I actually agree with Quinn,” Santana started hesitantly. “I’m sorry Britt, but I don’t really want anyone else staying in our room. I’m not comfortable with it.”

Brittany bowed her head and sighed. “I’m sorry Mikey. I really want you to join us, but they don’t want you to,” she said despondently.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. I’ll be fine, I’ll sleep in Sam’s old room or something. That one has a lock in it as well,” Mike replied. By now he had calmed down and while his eyes were still slightly puffy, he had stopped crying. Maybe he had come to accept that he had lost Tina?

A lightbulb lit up in Brittany’s head. “I’ll join you, Mike. I’ll keep you company, and no one will be alone, except for Mercedes I guess, but I don’t like her anymore after yesterday so I don’t care.”

“No!” Santana nearly yelled. “Britt, you are not going out there with Mike.”

“I can,” Brittany replied, frowning. “If I want to, Santana. I am allowed to make decisions for myself, too.”

“I just want to keep you safe, Britt. If you die out there, I will hate myself for not protecting you,” Santana said.

“I don’t need protection!” Brittany shouted. “I am not a five-year-old! I can take care of myself!”

“It’s not the same without you, Britt,” Quinn said quietly. “Will you please stay?”

“But what about Mike? I care about him too,” Brittany replied hotly.

“I’ll be fine,” Mike said. “I’ll take care of myself. Maybe I can even find an escape route. If I do, I’ll come back and tell you guys, okay?”

Brittany’s shoulders slumped. “You sure you don’t need me with you?” she mumbled.

“I’ll be fine,” Mike laughed.

“Well,” Brittany addressed Santana and Quinn with a scowl. “If Mike cannot stay with us, then can he at least eat with us?”

“No,” Quinn said stubbornly. “We three are to stick together at all times and avoid others as much as we can.”

“Quinn, I genuinely think that Mike isn’t going to –” Brittany started.

“My decision is final,” Quinn interrupted. Brittany looked apologetically to Mike.

“I’ll be fine, Britt, thanks for trying,” Mike said, rubbing Brittany’s back a few times. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Take care,” Brittany mumbled distractedly.

“I will,” Mike smiled and left the room, closing the door behind him. Brittany turned to face the other girls.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with you,” Brittany said angrily. “Mike needs our help! You literally just sent him out to die!”

“If we take him in then _we_ are the ones who die!” Quinn argued. Brittany rolled her eyes and scoffed. Santana made her way to Brittany’s side.

“You are really smart, Britt, your detective work just then proved that. So make the smart decision here, okay? If we let Mike in we are just exposing ourselves.” Santana said sincerely.

“Whatever,” Brittany mumbled. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

“Okay, Britt. Whatever you want.”

“Obviously not,” Brittany scowled. “Not having Mike here is not ‘whatever you want’.” Santana didn’t have an answer to that. Quinn got up from the bed and together they set off towards the kitchen.

***

“Okay, what the fuck is that?” Santana said, pointing to a huge red patch on the carpet in the lounge.

“Blood,” Brittany replied monotonously. “What else could it be?”

“Who was here?” Santana frowned. “I thought that Tina died in her room.”

“It was Puck,” Sam came into the room, making all three of the girls jump. “I dragged him away because I didn’t want to see a dead body every time I pass the lounge.”

“Was he dead?” Brittany asked.

“Yeah, definitely,” Sam replied, rubbing at his nose. “Probably killed by glass. I cleaned up the broken glass around it as well,”

“Thanks, that’s really kind of you,” Brittany smiled. Sam smiled back.

“So there had been two kills in one day again?” Quinn said. There was a slight tremor in her voice, but it could’ve just been Brittany’s imagination.

“It seems like it,” Sam sighed. “The killer is on a rampage. That also means that I don’t have a person to stick with anymore.”

“What are you trying to imply here?” Quinn asked sceptically.

“Well, ah,” Sam rubbed the back of his head, making his hair slightly messier. “I was wondering if I could stick with you guys.”

Santana took a step back. “Hell no, you are not joining us.”

“Hey, why not?” Sam argued, spreading his arms. “I kind of need company in what’s likely to be my last days.”

Santana bristled. “What _you_ need is the least of my concerns. You are not joining us. We just rejected Mike. We are not accepting you.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “I guess that’s fair enough. I might stick with Mike then.”

“Please don’t,” Brittany spoke up. “I think that the best thing for you to do is to stay alone. You shouldn’t trust people from outside your group from now on, you don’t know what they were up to the past few days. If you stay in Puck’s room, you should be fine.”

“You’re right Britt,” Sam smiled. “You’re so smart.” He ruffled Brittany’s hair with his hand before leaving the room, sending her a wink as he left.

“Sam is fucking strange,” Quinn grumbled.

“Really? He seems pretty normal to me,” Brittany shrugged.

“Normal to you, maybe, because he has this stupid crush on you!” Santana said heatedly. “I really have this feeling that it’s him.” Brittany opened her mouth to speak, but Santana continued. “He sneaks around, always alone, no one knows what’s in his room, probably killed Puck because he assaulted you yesterday, carries dead bodies out like it’s nothing, I really think it’s him.”

“For once Santana, I whole-heartedly agree with you,” Quinn seconded. “Let’s get our food and get the hell away from here.”

Brittany rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say,” she mocked. Quinn and Santana glared at her and proceeded to go to the kitchen.

***

“I think that we should go search the perimeters again,” Santana suggested as she and Quinn were sat on the bed, whereas Brittany was sat on a chair opposite them, all munching on some bread. “Or at least try to get some communication.”

“For one thing, I don’t want to search the perimeters again. We have spent four hours a few days back and found nothing. We’re not going to find anything this time,” Quinn said.

“Yeah, but the others may have not been looking carefully enough. Everyone was looking, meaning that the murderer was looking too. The murderer could have come across one but didn’t tell any one of us,” Santana replied.

“I don’t think there is one,” Brittany mumbled through her bread in her mouth. “We should focus on communication. If we searched the fences again and found nothing it would’ve been a huge waste of time.”

“Yeah, but there is a lot of time on our hands,” Santana frowned. “What else are we going to do?”

“Um, we could either try and communicate with the outside world, or we can say screw it and live our last days to the fullest? Or,” Brittany raised a finger. “We could kill everyone else alive here, so that it’s just the three of us, and we can hold out until someone comes and finds us.”

“No, Brittany, that last one is not a solution,” Santana chastised. “I just don’t want to accept the fact that we are screwed, so your second solution is also not a solution. I guess we could try and communicate, but how are we going to do that?”

“We can’t,” Quinn said solemnly. “None of us even have working phones anymore. They are all out of battery. None of us have a charger.”

“Yeah, but Sam does, remember? He took mine a couple of days ago.” Brittany said.

“No, we’re not facing Sam again, he’s not safe,” Santana said firmly. “Even if we got our phones working, there is no service and no internet. It won’t be helpful. So I don’t think that we should risk an encounter with Sam just for a plan that won’t work.”

“Oh, come on, Santana, Sam’s not _dangerous_ ,” Brittany drawled. “He saved me yesterday, remember?”

“Yeah, only because he likes you,” Santana growled.

“If he really was the killer, like you strongly suggest every time, then he would’ve let Puck kill me,” Brittany said.

“No, because he likes you, he wants to keep you alive so that you two can date. Or he stopped Puck because he wants to kill you himself,” Quinn piped up.

“Fine,” Brittany sighed, not wanting to argue this further. Therefore, she changed the subject. “So we don’t have phones. How else are we going to get others to notice us?”

“We can’t,” Quinn mumbled.

“No, we can send like emergency flares or something. Like, fireworks.” Santana suggested.

“Yeah, like we have these here,” Quinn laughed scornfully.

“Hey, you never know,” Santana scowled. “We came here for a vacation, right? For all we know, Puck could’ve packed fireworks for an evening show or something.”

“I think you are onto something here, Santana,” Brittany said. “However, even if we do find fireworks, people who see it would just think that we’re celebrating. We can’t send signals with it or anything.”

“I know,” Quinn said perking up. “We can create an explosive or some kind of incendiary grenade and set fire to the forest around us! People cannot miss a burning forest! They’ll come and we’ll be rescued!”

Both Brittany and Santana laughed.

“What?” Quinn asked, starting to feel self-conscious.

“Number one, how do we even make a bomb? We’re high school students, not freaking weapon scientists,” Santana said, still chuckling. “Number two, you want to burn an entire forest? That is so illegal it’s funny. If they find out it was intentional, and they will, that is not going to end so well for us, will it? Number three, you realise fire spreads quite fast, right? Within no time, especially since we can’t throw the grenade far, our house will catch fire and we are toast. So Quinn, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Hear hear,” Brittany seconded. Quinn blushed.

“Don’t have to tear me down,” she mumbled. “I was just making a suggestion that I thought could work.”

“The fireworks idea could work though,” Brittany said. “There could be some lying around the house.”

“Should we go find them now?” Santana asked.

“Yeah, why not. If we do find them, let’s set them off this evening, as people are more likely to see them. If no one comes for us, at least we have had some fun setting them off,” Brittany shrugged.

“Fine,” Quinn said reluctantly. “I don’t really want to be wandering around the house without a weapon though.”

“I think there are hockey sticks downstairs in the cupboard. If anyone comes, we hit ‘em, yeah? There are three of us and one of them. We’ll be fine,” Brittany said.

“Let’s get the sticks first, then we look for fireworks,” Santana said. She then wrinkled her nose. “God, that sounds so stupid.”

“Nah, it doesn’t.”

***

It took them a short time to locate where the cupboard that Brittany was talking about was, as Brittany led them to the wrong cupboard first. Well, now they know where the garden tools are. Initially, Quinn just wanted to take a shovel as a weapon to carry around, but Brittany pointed out that they were quite heavy and that they would come back for them as a second choice if they don’t find the sports equipment.

Soon, all three girls were equipped with a hockey stick and were scouring around the house for fireworks. It did sound like quite a stupid goal, as realistically no one would have any fireworks lying around the house, but the girls could only hope. They started in the lounge (they made sure to evade the huge red patch on the floor) and looked through each drawer and cabinet. Brittany found the charred wires from many days ago and showed it to the girls, but they weren’t impressed so Brittany dejectedly put it back into the drawer.

The lounge didn’t have any fireworks unsurprisingly, but Quinn insisted that they be thorough so they ended up looking in places such as under the sofa. About ten minutes later, still no fireworks.

“Hey, don’t worry if we don’t find any in the end,” Brittany reassured Quinn, who was huffing petulantly.

“Why? Then we’re screwed,” Quinn frowned.

“We have only searched one room so far. Also,” Brittany smirked mischievously, “I get my own fireworks when I get sweet lady kisses with Santana.”

“That is so not funny,” Quinn grumbled. “Not cool, Brittany.”

“Hey, that’s mean!” Brittany argued.

“It was kind of a bad joke, Britt,” Santana cringed. “Sorry.”

“Fine,” Brittany mumbled. “Let’s go search the dining room.”

The girls got up and swiped at their clothes to clean themselves of dust. They then walked out of the lounge and made their way towards the dining room, but they never got there. Because Mercedes appeared, supposedly from the kitchen, and confronted the trio.

“Where is my knife?” she demanded. The three girls looked at each other before one of them answered.

“What do you mean, ‘where is your knife’?” Santana responded harshly.

“My knife? That I got? You took it from me, didn’t you? Where is it?” Mercedes said impatiently.

“No, Mercedes, we didn’t take your knife,” Quinn frowned. “And it isn’t even yours anyway. It was ours before you took it from us.”

“You expect me to believe that you didn’t take it?” Mercedes snarled. “Fine. Say you’re telling the truth. Who’s got it?”

Quinn opened her mouth again to speak, but Brittany beat her to it. “We don’t know. If you were taking care of it, you wouldn’t have lost it, would you?”

“No, I didn’t _lose_ it, it was stolen. If anything, by you Britt.” Mercedes’ nostrils flared with anger, but even she knew that she wouldn’t win this fight. It was one person against three people with hockey sticks. The odds were not in her favour. “But I have no proof,” Mercedes back-tracked. She gave them all an indignant stare before turning her heels and walking briskly away.

“Yeah, that’s right, fat shit, walk away!” Santana shouted after her.

“That’s not necessary,” Brittany admonished, putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked over to Quinn. “Should we continue the search? Or should we just give up?”

“Let’s keep searching,” Quinn said. “It’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”

“I guess.”

***

The girls had spent a considerable amount of time scouring the whole of the ground floor. They didn’t find any fireworks, or any explosives for that matter, although they did find an interesting note on the floor at the corner of the kitchen that read _FREE PASS_. It was handwritten, but none of the girls could recognise whose handwriting it was, so they disregarded it as one of Puck’s party ideas. Brittany threw it into the trash.

It’s quite funny, how far they have come in this ‘vacation’. They all had hopes of a relaxing and fun time away from home, just before the inevitable heavy work during Senior year, but that was quickly dashed when people started to drop dead nightly. The fear of the serial killer was constantly on their minds, and with every passing minute, escape and rescue looked less and less likely. They have told their parents that they would be back after two weeks. It had only been one week. They had to hold out for one more week before they were supposed to return, and it would be another few days before parents started to get worried and file missing person requests, and it would take another few days for them to be found. In other words, no one was coming for them in at least two weeks, and at this rate, all but the serial killer would be dead long before then. Their only realistic chance of survival was to escape. Of course, they could try and climb the fences, but they were really tall so it was really hard, and there were spikes on top of the fences so unless they want to be impaled, scaling the fences were out of the question. There was also the hope of finding the front gate keys so that they could just open the gate and escape, but that was just wishful thinking. It could be anywhere. It would be like finding a grain of rice in a swimming pool.

The girls decided to take a break after they finished the ground floor, so they went back upstairs and into their own room. Quinn rubbed her eyes when they walked in, and jumped onto the bed, sitting on it. Santana could tell that she was upset, so she went to sit next to her. Brittany got a chair and sat down opposite them, watching.

“Come on, Quinn, all’s not lost yet,” Santana tried to reassure Quinn, who had a few tears dripping out of her eyes by now. “We still haven’t looked upstairs.”

“No,” Quinn sighed. “There’s no point.” She flopped down so that she was now lying on the bed on her back. “It’s not like I expected this house to have _fireworks_ anyway. I need to stop living on hope and just face reality.”

“And what would that reality be?” Santana enquired.

“I think that we just have to accept that we are all going to die,” Quinn said, starting to sob now. “Why spend our last days finding for escape and ways to save ourselves? The killer knows what they are doing. We are doomed.”

“That’s negative thinking, Quinn,” Brittany scolded, but Quinn paid her no mind.

“So, you know what? Screw it,” Quinn said, trying to sound confident, wiping some more tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She sat back up. “No more crying. No more fear. Let’s live life to the fullest before we die, okay? I’m happy. Of course, it isn’t ideal that we are all going to die young, but I can’t choose two better people to spend my last days with.” Quinn’s tears started to fall again, faster, but she smiled through them. “I love you guys, I really do.”

“Quinn,” Santana said softly, not sure how to approach this. “I don’t think that we should give up just yet. There are still six people alive here. And we have three in our group. We are the safest out of all of us, the others out there are all by themselves.”

“No, there’s no point,” Quinn sighed. “Whoever is killing will get us soon, like two or three more days at best. Let’s not waste a minute more of it. I want to have fun before I die.”

“But Quinn, aren’t you scared of dying?” Santana asked gently. Quinn sniffed a few times before starting to sob again.

“I’m terrified,” she admitted. “I’m so scared of dying. What happens after? Would it just be some huge abyss? Or would there be an afterlife? Does it hurt to die? And, how will I be killed? I don’t want to die like Rachel.” Quinn’s voice cracked a bit and she hiccupped. “I really hope that the killer has mercy on me, I really do. I’m so scared,” Quinn’s voice trailed off as a whisper towards the end before her hands desperately tried to wipe away the tears that were starting to cascade down her cheeks. “I don’t want to die, Santana. I don’t want to die,” Quinn whispered before breaking off into sobs.

“Then we shouldn’t give up,” Santana said defiantly, rubbing Quinn’s back. “None of us want to die. The will to survive will carry us to the end, I promise. We’ll start sleeping in shifts. If anything happens, wake us all up and we will ambush the killer with hockey sticks, okay?” Quinn gave a weak smile. “We’ll be fine. I’ll keep you all safe,” Santana concluded, trying to sound as convincing as possible, but truth is, Santana wasn’t so sure anymore. Mike’s group had been sleeping in shifts as well, and the killer still got one of them. If it was Mercedes, then it wouldn’t be as bad, as she was in their group and could get Tina easily. But if it wasn’t her or Mike, then that means that the killer could manage to overcome the sleeping in shifts obstacle. That was a scary thought. Maybe they need two people up at one time. They would just sleep through the daytime as well so that they get sufficient sleep. Santana would have to figure it out later.

“I believe you, Santana. I’ll try to keep optimistic,” Quinn said shakily. “But it’s just really hard right now, you know?”

“I understand, Quinn,” Brittany piped up. She got out of her chair and sat next to Quinn on the bed, hugging her side. “How about we go and have some fun for the rest of the day, just to cheer all of us up and forget about this killer situation we are in, and we’ll keep trying tomorrow?” Brittany tried her best to sound ebullient.

“Yeah, but what are we going to do?” Quinn asked.

“We could go downstairs and use the stereo. We could dance all day, pop out some drinks and refreshments from the kitchen, and lose ourselves to the music,” Brittany suggested.

“But that’s going to attract a lot of attention,” Quinn said, frowning a bit.

“Screw attention,” Brittany waved her hand to emphasize her point. “We’ll keep our sticks nearby. We’ll lock the door. We can barricade the door with furniture. We could even camp there for the night if we don’t manage to make our way back. So what if we play loud music? We deserve it.”

“That sounds like a really good idea,” Quinn mumbled, sniffing again.

“Yeah, we’ll do that,” Santana agreed. “We’ll keep trying tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

Taking Quinn’s sleeping bag with them and some various stuff from their bedroom in case they had to camp the night, as well as their hockey sticks, they left the room and locked the door behind them. They walked down the stairs to go to the room with the stereo, where they remembered partying at on the first night they were in this wretched house.

***

“Huh, never pegged Puck as a CDs guy,” Santana said, her voice echoing through the large room as she flipped through a shelf full of CDs.

“I don’t think it all belongs to Puck,” Brittany replied, pushing a couch to the door. “His family owns this house, remember? It could belong to them.”

“Yeah, that makes sense, a lot of these songs are really old,” Santana said thoughtfully. “Actually, he could have some newer ones on the MP3 player,” Santana walked towards the stereo set where she spotted a device lying on top. She was pleased to see that it still had power, after all, it had never been used again after the first day. It couldn’t connect to the internet, but there were quite a lot of songs downloaded into the player. “Looks like we got our music,” Santana smiled, connecting the MP3 player to the stereo.

“This is going to be awesome,” Brittany clapped her hands in excitement. She walked over to the table on the far side of the room, where all the food was. The girls had done another kitchen raid just before, getting basically the rest of the snacks and some more bread, as they couldn’t just live on junk food alone. Brittany took a biscuit from a pack and took a bite.

“Are you sure about this?” Quinn asked quietly, sitting on a chair as far away from the door as possible in the corner. She looked anxious, trepidatious even.

“Can’t be surer,” Brittany beamed. “Come on, Quinn, this will be great! We deserve this.”

Quinn merely mustered a small, wistful smile in response.

Suddenly an extremely loud noise made all of them jump.

“Fuck,” Santana cursed. “That’s loud,” she said, frantically turning the knob so that the music was quieter. “That’s better,” she smiled, walking over towards the empty section of the room, where there was a makeshift dance floor. “What we doing now?”

Brittany joined her. “Dancing, silly,” she giggled, taking Santana’s arms in her hands and starting to sway to the music. That quickly escalated to some pretty intense dancing.

Quinn watched them from the corner. Brittany was an excellent lead, it was quite amazing how much chemistry the two girls had together: they never trod on each other’s toes, they were having fun, they were laughing and giggling whenever one of them makes a mistake. She really wanted happiness for the couple. At least they got to spend their last days in each other’s arms. However, this made Quinn’s heart clench with longing and sadness. She had no warm body to share. But, hey, at least she had her friends in her last days, right? At least her last days were not with someone like Puck, or worse, spent alone.

Quinn’s train of thought was interrupted when Santana plopped down next to her. Quinn looked at her questioningly.

“Come on, your turn,” Santana said, slightly out of breath, gesturing towards Brittany, who was waiting for her in the middle of the room, smiling exuberantly.

“No, it’s fine,” Quinn chuckled, “You can go dance with your girl. I’m happy to just watch.”

“That’s not the point,” Brittany pouted, suddenly appearing in front of the short-haired blonde. “Come, dance with me!” Brittany grabbed both of Quinn’s arms with her hands and started to shake them from side to side, to the beat of the music.

“I don’t know how to,” Quinn mumbled, not exactly willing to get up from her chair just yet.

Brittany rolled her eyes, “That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say, and I’ve heard a lot of things,” she joked, but Quinn still frowned a bit. “Everyone can dance. You just have to let loose and relax.”

Quinn looked towards Santana, who simply smiled encouragingly. Begrudgingly, Quinn stood up. Squealing, Brittany started to pull at Quinn and led her to the centre of the room.

“No one’s going to judge,” she whispered into Quinn’s ear. “Just let go. Let your body guide you.”

“Okay,” Quinn sighed, starting to shyly move her limbs. Brittany beamed at Quinn’s participation, however meagre it was.

“That’s great!” Brittany chirped. “You’re doing great!” Brittany pushed Quinn’s shoulder playfully, causing her to sway more, and started to sing to the music that was playing loudly in the background. She wasn’t exactly singing properly, so it sounded quite off, but it was nevertheless hilarious. Quinn laughed at Brittany’s antics and started to feel her fears ebb away. Quinn started to shift her feet to the rhythm, moving her body with more enthusiasm.

Brittany stopped dancing and admired the sight in front of her, which was a dancing Quinn. “Wow, Quinn, you are totally a natural,”

“Shut up, Brittany,” Quinn laughed as she stepped on her own foot, stumbling.

Santana started to whoop in the background animatedly.

***

“I think we should stop and go upstairs now,” Santana said, panting. “It’s getting late, and I don’t think I can go any longer,”

“Santana, you’re such a killjoy,” Brittany pouted, looking down at the two girls in front of her. Santana and Quinn were both out of breath and drenched in sweat, whereas Brittany didn’t sound tired at all and her shirt was completely dry.

“I don’t understand,” Quinn wheezed. “How are you not tired at all?”

“She has insane stamina,” Santana responded breathlessly. “She can probably run a marathon or something. Also,” Santana paused to send a smirk. “Her having great stamina means that she’s a goddess in bed.”

“Hey!” Brittany shouted, blushing. Quinn just laughed.

“I don’t think I can go on much longer,” Quinn said. “Let’s go upstairs. We can just talk or something.”

“Yeah, okay,” Brittany agreed. “I had a great time down here, did you guys?”

“The best,” Santana responded.

“Thank you so much Brittany, for bringing me down here. I had a lot of fun,” Quinn sighed happily. “I also know how to dance now,”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Brittany swatted Quinn’s arm. “You always knew how to. You were just too shy. You’re an amazing dancer.”

“Not as good as you,” Quinn mumbled.

“Well no one is as good as me,” Brittany said in mock narcissism. “But thanks for the compliment. I actually think you’re a better dancer than Santana now.”

“Hey!” Santana scowled. Brittany just smirked. “Fine, whatever, maybe she is. Let’s just go upstairs,” she grumbled.

“Should we leave the stuff down here?” Brittany asked. “We have the key, we can just keep the door locked, no one will come in here. We can come back here tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I would love that,” Quinn breathed.

“Okay,” Brittany smiled. “Let’s go back upstairs.” She grabbed Quinn’s sleeping bag and one of the last cookies on the table on the way to the door. Santana and Quinn grabbed the rest of their stuff and followed her. Together, they made their way towards their room after locking the room to the studio. The hockey sticks lay forgotten at the corner of the room.

***

“How do you feel, Quinn?” Brittany asked as the three of them just finished brushing their teeth and were making their way back into their bedroom. “You feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I guess, a lot better,” Quinn responded absently.

“You don’t sound so sure,” Brittany pointed out, a small frown on her face. “Something on your mind?”

“I’m don’t really want to sleep,” Quinn admitted. “I don’t want to fall asleep knowing that I may never wake. I’m scared.” Her voice trailed off to a whimper towards the end, and a lone tear escaped her eye.

“Come on, Quinn, no more tears,” Brittany admonished, wiping away the tear with her thumb. “We’ll be perfectly fine. We’ll all live to see the sun rise again.”

“I think that we should sleep in shifts,” Santana suggested. “This way, the killer can’t sneak up on us halfway through the night.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Brittany said. “What do you think, Quinn?”

“That would be good,” Quinn mumbled. “So who’s taking the first shift?”

“I’ll take the first shift,” Santana offered. “Brittany, you can take the second shift. Quinn, you can take the last shift. That would be early morning, and if the murderer has struck, they would’ve struck before then. So your shift is technically the safest. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, that would work,” Brittany nodded. “How long are the shifts?”

“I’d say three hours,” Santana said. “Right now it’s eleven, so I’ll wake you at two, Britt, and you can wake Quinn up at five. If anything happens, like someone tries to break into our room, scream like a banshee and wake us all up, okay?”

“Roger that,” Brittany said. “We’ll come rushing to your aid with our sticks, okay?”

“Talking of sticks, where are our hockey sticks?” Santana asked. The three of them started to look around the room for the sticks but to no avail.

“Frick,” Brittany cursed. “We must have left them downstairs,”

“So we got everything with us, except the most important thing?” Santana said, voice slightly raised. “That’s really bad.”

Brittany could see Quinn’s distress. “Hey, Quinn, don’t worry. It’s not like sticks are the only thing that we can use to defend ourselves with. We’ll barricade this door, and we always have furniture to attack with, okay? I guess we could chuck mugs or rush them with lamps or something. We’ll be fine. Just wake us all up when something happens, and they cannot take on all three of us.”

“Okay,” Quinn sighed. “I believe you. We’ll be fine.” Quinn sounded like she was convincing herself.

“Yes Quinn, that’s right, we’ll be fine,” Brittany said, rubbing Quinn’s back affectionately.

“All right, I’ll take the first watch,” Santana said. “Do you want lights on or off?”

“Keep it on,” Quinn said. “You can switch it off if you want when we’re asleep.”

“Okay,” Santana nodded. “You guys can go to bed now. I’ll holler if anything happens, okay? Don’t worry.” She walked over and gave Brittany a peck on the lips and hugged Quinn afterwards. “Sweet dreams.”

Brittany and Quinn tucked themselves into bed. “I’m still scared,” Quinn mumbled. “But I shouldn’t be, right?”

“That’s right,” Brittany smiled. She gave Quinn a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Go to sleep. Nothing will happen. I’ll wake you up at five for your shift.”

“Okay, Britt. I love you,” Quinn said, then realised how that sounded. “As a friend of course,” she hastily added.

Brittany chuckled. “Goodnight Quinn, and I love you too. As a friend of course,” she smirked.

~

I must admit that it is getting hard to keep myself from being suspicious. There are only six people in this house now. In the morning, there would only be five.

I’m not so sure if I can go on much longer. I’m starting to feel guilty for killing all of these people.

But guilty is not my concern right now. My main concern is my next kill. I need to stay focused. Remorse cannot distract me.

I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for way too long. This vacation was perfect. So I need to pull myself together and just carry out what I came here to do.

I make my way downstairs. Yes, I know that there would be no one here, because no one is stupid enough to come here, but I need some time to gather myself.

Deep breaths.

I get the knife out hidden next to my calf. I grip it tightly. The knife is my friend. Both offensively and defensively.

Let’s put my mask on. I don’t want whoever I get today to see my face.

I sigh again. Let’s do it.

It’s going to be hard. Everyone is preparing for me to come for them, and I will probably get attacked. I’m not sure if I will stay alive much longer. But, it’s for the thrill, right? I need to do it.

Who should I target today? Hmm, maybe –

Wait what? Why is someone walking down the stairs?

Are my ears deceiving me? Who would be walking around at this time of day?

A thought makes my blood run cold. What if this was the second killer? The person who killed Puck? I might actually be in danger here.

The person at the stairs walks down their last step. It is really dark. I can’t really tell who they are, and I’m sure they can’t tell who I am, as I have a mask on.

We have definitely seen each other. We stand there, the person at the base of the staircase and I in the hallway, staring at each other for what must have been a minute. Time passes strangely at these times, okay?

The person reaches behind them and takes out something. My eyes widen. Fuck. They have a sickle.

That is scary. Sickle versus knife. It really could go either way. I’m assuming that this is the person that killed Puck. Or this person is the person that is hell-bent on getting me.

The person takes a few steps forward into the moonlight. She is still holding the sickle in her right hand.

Mercedes?

Did she kill Puck? I didn’t think it was her, but hey, you learn new things every day, don’t you?

She is now standing in the light. I’m still standing in the dark. Honestly, I am scared of this inevitable fight to the death. Yes, I am quite strong, but Mercedes can be absolutely crazy.

I don’t want to kill her. But I have to if that means that she will kill me.

“Take your fucking mask off, you coward,” she hisses. Should I? She will know who I am if I do. I mean, she can probably tell by my body shape, but I am standing in the dark so she can’t see me that well.

Oh well, screw it. I’ll take my mask off.

She sees my face. Her eyes narrow. Before giving me a chance to react, she lunges forward, sickle outstretched, in a swinging motion aiming straight towards my head.

My reflexes save me in the nick of time. I duck and the sickle completes its arc less than ten centimetres above my head.

Is this what every kill will consist of in the future? I may be good at what I do, but I can’t guarantee I get all of them before one of them succeeds and kills me.

Luckily for me, the amount of power that Mercedes put into the kill shot threw her off balance slightly. I slide on my knees and thrust the knife. It connects with her shin. She lets out a grunt in pain, but she regains her balance soon. She launches towards me at impossible speed for someone of her physique and I barely block her sickle with my knife. She presses forward until the sickle and the knife is very close to my face, and I sweat a little at the effort I am taking to hold it back so that I don’t get cut in the face. She is freakishly strong.

I feign a movement towards the left, and instead move towards the right, deflecting the sickle so that it continues its motion beyond my head and sticks itself towards the wall. I try and thrust my knife towards her abdomen, but she places a well-aimed kick towards my own abdomen, and I fall, feeling like I’m about to throw up.

Well played, Mercedes. You may actually win this one. But I have one more trick up my sleeve.

It’s risky. But I can’t think of any other way of getting out alive.

I throw the knife in my hand with as much power as I could muster. Yes, I know that’s what Tina did, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Luckily for me, the knife wedges itself in Mercedes’ chest. She wails in pain, and I take this opportunity to take the upper hand. I rush forward and pluck the knife out, eliciting another wail of pain from her, and I stab her repeatedly, her stomach, her thighs, her face. Blood squirts everywhere, but I don’t care. I stab again and again until she doesn’t move anymore.

That was fucking intense. You understand now why I’m having second thoughts of killing any more people? Because this is what you fucking get.

Fuck!

I need to wash my face, chuck away my clothes, remove traces of evidence.

This will take a while. I’m not sure if I have time.


	9. Day 8

“Guys, wake up!” Quinn’s voice made the two girls on the bed stir. Santana mumbled something incoherent, tightening her hold on Brittany’s head closer to her chest as she shifted. “Wake up!” Quinn tried again. Santana’s eyes finally opened and focused on Quinn’s form hovering over them on the bed. Brittany groaned and lifted her head out of Santana’s bosom.

Santana initially thought that Quinn woke them up because something had happened, but as soon as she saw that light was seeping through the curtains and Quinn was beaming brightly, she let her guard down.

“What’s the matter, Quinn?” Santana croaked, her grogginess making her voice lower than usual. Brittany rubbed her eyes and sat up, messy blonde hair falling everywhere.

“We survived!” Quinn cheered. “I didn’t hear anything at all during my shift! I think this works! Did you hear anything?”

“No, nothing happened during my shift,” Santana mumbled. Quinn turned her eyes expectantly towards Brittany. It took a few seconds for Brittany to realise that Quinn was addressing her, so when she did, she jolted and fixed Quinn with an innocent look.

“Oh, none for me either,” Brittany said, hands in her hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

“That means, that we kept the killer at bay tonight!” Quinn chirped exuberantly. “If we keep this up, we could make it out of here alive!” Santana could swear that Quinn was glowing.

“That’s great!” Santana said, sitting up as well and starting to climb out of bed. “This is really good.”

“What time is it Quinn?” Brittany asked, grabbing a comb from the bedside table and starting to drag it through her hair.

“I think it’s eight,” Quinn said. Then a thought popped up in her head. “Why did you wake me up late for my shift? You woke me up at like, five-thirty.”

“You just looked adorable sleeping with my Sanny bear,” Brittany smirked, setting the comb down. “You guys were literally cuddled up together.”

“Were you not jealous or anything?” Santana asked.

“Nah,” Brittany waved her hand. “Quinnie was just scared. Who knew that she was such a cuddle monster at heart, just like Sanny?”

“Hey!” Santana argued. “I’m not a cuddle monster!”

“If you say so,” Brittany shrugged.

“Okay,” Quinn interrupted, deciding to change the subject. “Should we go get some breakfast? We’ll come back here as soon as we get the food. Actually, we could get lunch as well while we’re at it.”

“Or we can just get dinner as well while we’re at it,” Santana suggested.

“Sure, I don’t really feel like eating right now though,” Brittany said. She placed a hand over her stomach. “I don’t feel so well.”

Santana frowned. “What’s the matter, Britt? Does it hurt or something?” she asked, gesturing to Brittany’s stomach.

Brittany nodded. “I might need some ice.” Santana walked over and lifted Brittany’s shirt.

“Damn, Britt, is that from Puck?” Santana said, pointing to a big green mark on her stomach.

Brittany shrugged. “I think so. Or unless you or Quinn kicked me when you were asleep. I actually wouldn’t put it past Quinn to do that, actually,” Brittany smirked. “You thrash so much in your sleep.”

“No, I don’t!” Quinn replied hotly.

“You do, Quinn. You woke me up a few times because it was like you were having a seizure,” Santana smirked.

Quinn huffed and turned her back on the two girls, sitting on the bed. “We getting food or what?”

“Yeah, we’ll go get some food now,” Santana said. “No one should be up this early. We can also grab more ice for Britt’s bruises. Is your neck feeling better?”

Brittany rolled her neck a bit. “Yeah, a lot better. It nearly feels like it’s normal now.”

“Okay, well, we’ll get some for your neck as well. Should we take something with us, just in case?” Santana asked.

“Let’s take the candlestick,” Brittany suggested, pointing to the object at the far side of the room, where it sat on the shelf. “Those things hurt like a bitch.”

“Yeah, okay, so shall we go?” Santana looked over at Quinn.

“Yep,” Quinn said, getting up and throwing a jacket over herself. Together, the girls left the room.

***

“So here I was, sitting on my chair in a bar when someone thought that I was wearing a wig!” Quinn babbled as the girls walked down the stairs. “I don’t even know why! Does my hair look fake?”

“No,” Brittany replied.

“That’s what I thought!” Quinn prattled on. “That absolute douche just grabbed my hair! I don’t even know why!”

“Wait, so what happened next?” Santana asked, amused.

“Well, obviously my hair didn’t fall off,” Quinn frowned slightly. “Actually, I think I might know why he tried to do that. He tried to hit on me, but I, uh, used some means to get rid of him. So he was trying to embarrass me, I think,” Quinn said.

“How exactly did you get rid of him?” Brittany asked.

“Well,” Quinn started to blush. “I was with a friend, so I just pretended that I was dating them.”

“Them?” Santana smirked. “Who was this _friend_ you are talking about?”

“That’s none of your business!” Quinn said hotly.

“Was it a girl?” Brittany asked curiously.

Quinn’s cheeks got even redder. “Yes,” she answered in a quiet, meek voice.

“Attagirl!” Santana exclaimed. “I always knew you had a little gay in you, Quinn! I’m proud of you.”

“I’m not gay,” Quinn scowled, trying to sound as confident as she could. However, the waver in her voice did not go unnoticed to the two girls trailing just behind her on the staircase.

“Sure, sure,” Brittany grinned mischievously.

“Whatever,” Quinn said, walking down the final stair and landing on the ground floor. There was a U-turn from where Quinn was to the kitchen, so when Quinn turned around 180 degrees, she saw what was lying in the hallway before the couple behind her.

Quinn’s scream could break someone’s eardrums.

“What is that!” she shrieked, recoiling and darting past Brittany and Santana, sprinting up a few steps on the staircase. Curious, Santana turned as well to see what was in the hallway, but as soon as she did she instantly threw her arm across her face, covering her eyes and turning right back around.

“That is _disgusting_ ,” Santana retched. “Do _not_ look at that, Brittany.”

Brittany, unfortunately, heard a little too late. She peeked around and saw the mangled body sprawled across the floor a few meters away from them, accompanied by a large puddle of drying blood.

“Is that M-Mercedes?” Brittany gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“Maybe,” Santana shivered. “Who else could it be?”

“Ugh,” Quinn gagged. “I really thought that the killer didn’t strike last night. I didn’t hear anything.”

“Me neither,” Santana mumbled despondently.

“How are we even going to get food now? I don’t think that we should just, step over her or something,” Brittany said.

“Maybe close your eyes?” Santana suggested. “Or we can get the boys to carry her out,”

“Carry who out?” Mike appeared at the top of the staircase. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he looked worried.

“I think it’s Mercedes,” Brittany said as Mike walked down the stairs. “She’s been absolutely mutilated,” she informed, sticking out a tongue. “She has like a hundred stab wounds in her.”

Mike sighed. “Well, I guess we have to clean up around her before we carry her unless you want her blood everywhere.”

“Wait, we?” Quinn squeaked. “I’m not helping!”

“I’ll help,” another voice spoke from the top of the staircase. “Who’s died this time?”

“Oh, no you don’t Sam,” Santana growled. “Stay away from us!”

“Why?” Sam looked a bit offended. “Mike is with you guys, why can’t I?”

“Because I don’t trust you,” Santana spat. “Just go away!”

“What is it with you?” Sam asked, starting to get angry. “I’ve done nothing!”

“Let him help,” Brittany said quietly.

“W-What Britt? No!” Santana squeaked.

“He’s not going to go whip out a knife and stab all of us,” Brittany replied, laughing. “We do need an extra hand.”

“Yeah, Britt’s right,” Mike said. “No one’s going to hurt anyone. I’ll go get some cloths and some water, and we’ll clean up the blood.” With that, Mike ascended the stairs again and passed Sam, who shifted to the side to let Mike pass.

Sam walked down the stairs, passing the girls and turned to see the corpse of Mercedes in the hallway. He scrunched up his face and threw an arm across it, partially blocking his sight.

“That is a nasty piece of work, isn’t it?” he grunted.

“It is,” Brittany agreed. “Looked like there had been a hell of a fight here.”

“What do you mean?” Santana asked.

“The killer wouldn’t stab her again and again if she was already dead. If I had to guess, the killer didn’t go for Mercedes. Mercedes went for the killer.”

Quinn gasped. “Damn! If only Mercedes won!”

“But she didn’t,” Brittany sighed. “Judging by the sickle she had, she tried to kill the killer. It probably was one hell of a fight, if the killer had to stab her that many times to make sure she was dead.”

“Wait, Britt, how do you know she had a sickle?” Santana asked sceptically.

Brittany’s eyes widened momentarily. “There was a sickle in the pool of blood,” she muttered. “I don’t know if you saw it or not,”

“I think there was,” Quinn confirmed. “I just thought that she was killed with the sickle.”

“I don’t know then,” Brittany shrugged, blushing a little. “I was just guessing. I just think that those stab wounds look a lot like a knife’s.”

“How do you know that?” Sam frowned, who was still standing near the girls, unwilling to get close to the corpse. “Did you look at her up close or something?”

“I don’t know, okay?” Brittany’s cheeks reddened even more, much to the confusion of the people around her. Why was she blushing? “I was just trying to sound smart,” she sighed.

“Britt, you are smart. For all you know, you could be right,” Santana said comfortingly, and Brittany smiled weakly in response. At that moment, Mike came back downstairs with some cleaning supplies.

“You girls mind lending us a hand?” he asked.

Quinn scrunched up her nose. “I really don’t want to,” she whimpered. “Can I please not?” Mike looked towards Sam.

“Come on,” Sam drawled. “Why is it always me that does the work? Let’s just all do it together, pretend it’s spilled wine or something, so that we can get it done and move on with whatever we were about to do!”

“Quinn,” Brittany put a hand on her shoulder. “You can do the easier stuff. Like fetching us more water or rinsing out the cloths, okay? A little help is better than no help at all.”

“Okay,” Quinn conceded. “I guess I could do that.”

“Great,” Brittany breathed. “So, shall we get to work then?”

“This isn’t going to be fun,” Santana mumbled.

“No, it isn’t,” Mike concurred, plopping the bucket of water and some supplies on the floor on the ground floor.

***

“So, tell me what you guys have been doing these days,” Mike said, popping a grape into his mouth.

After the whole Mercedes mess had been cleaned up, the guys asked the girls to eat breakfast with them. Initially, they were reluctant to accept, but under Brittany’s influence, Santana and Quinn were persuaded and decided to join Mike and Sam at the dining table. After all, it had been a while since everyone sat down and talked. It was a good escape from reality funnily enough, as talking to each other as if everything was normal made everyone forget their fears about the killer, however briefly. It was a bit ironic, as the killer is sitting among them, but so far, everyone was acting normal and it really felt like they were hanging out at school again.

“Nothing much really,” Sam answered first, taking a bite of his apple. “I was with Puck until he died, and while I was with Puck we normally just talked and we sometimes went outside looking for stuff, and that’s when I found the shirt in the bushes. After he died, however, I spent the whole time in my room. I guess being alone with no one to talk to gave me a lot of time to think, it wasn’t at all a bad experience at all if I’m going to be honest.”

“Yeah, me too actually,” Mike said. “I’ve been looking around the house as well when I just felt like walking around, I was actually hoping to find some keys. The ones to the front gate, you know? I also tried climbing the fences, but I don’t want to get impaled so I didn’t try to get over it.”

“Hmm,” Sam hummed. He then turned to the trio of cheerleaders, who were sat together at the far end of the table. “So what have you guys been doing? I heard music playing the whole afternoon yesterday.”

“Oh, we were dancing,” Brittany smiled at the memory. “We just thought to have some fun to keep the fear from our minds. Mainly Quinn’s actually.”

“Hey!” Quinn protested.

“Come on, you were totally freaking out,” Brittany smirked, while Quinn started to pout. “We also got Quinn to dance.”

“Wait, Quinn can dance?” Mike sounded mildly surprised.

“I’m offended,” Quinn muttered under her breath.

“Of course she can,” Brittany chimed. “She’s just too shy to let loose. You should see her dance sometime. It’s so good, like better than Santana’s.”

“Hey!” This time it was Santana who protested.

“Yeah, I’d like to see a dancing Quinn too,” Mike smirked. “I bet it would be a sight to behold.”

“It really is,” Brittany agreed, nodding eagerly. “Why don’t you show them sometime?” she asked Quinn.

“No,” Quinn frantically shook her head. “Never!”

“Why do you talk so highly of her dancing?” Santana grumbled from her seat. “You never say that about mine.”

“Aww, baby, are you jealous?” Brittany smirked, using a baby voice.

“Wait,” Sam said abruptly. “You and Santana are back together?”

Santana frowned. “How did you know that we broke up?”

“Ahh, I may have let it slip,” Quinn said meekly. “I swear it was used in an emergency!”

“Was it when Puck did, um, you know to Britt?” Santana asked. Quinn nodded, and Santana sighed.

“So, are you?” Sam said. There was a weird look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Brittany confirmed.

“H-How did this happen?” Sam asked.

“Um, we realised that we shouldn’t have broken up, so we got back together?” Santana replied, in a slightly unfriendly manner.

“Oh,” Sam deflated. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll best be going,” Sam mumbled, finishing up his apple and throwing it into the trash. He then left the room.

“He really needs to get over his crush,” Santana said, shaking her head. “Did he seriously think that he had a chance? Or does he?” Santana suddenly said, sounding a bit unsure.

“You’re silly,” Brittany grinned. “He never stood a chance.”

“Ok, good,” Santana sighed.

“Well, I guess I’ll go now as well. I don’t really want to eat anymore,” Mike stated, standing up. “Guess all the blood cleaning and carrying out a stinking body isn’t all that good for your appetite.”

“I agree,” Brittany said, setting down her spoon which plopped into the bowl of dry cereal she was eating. She was eating dry cereal because there was no more milk, and she didn’t really want to have it with water. “It was kind of disgusting.”

“Yeah, anyway, I’ll be off now,” Mike announced. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” With that, he left the room, leaving the three girls sat at the dining table.

“What are we going to do now?” Quinn asked.

“Well, we did say that we weren’t going to give up,” Santana recalled. “So I guess we can look upstairs now for some fireworks?”

“Well, we don’t have to look specifically for fireworks,” Brittany added. “We could also look for hidden keys as well, or potential weapons. We could always take the sickle,” Brittany suggested.

“I don’t really want to touch something that had been drenched in blood for hours,” Quinn shuddered. “Let’s go upstairs. If we don’t find anything and I get depressed again, let’s go back to the studio and we can have some fun and forget.”

“Good plan, Quinn.”

***

“I give up,” Quinn huffed despondently, throwing a stress ball that they found under a bed across the room. “What is the point?”

“Yeah, I’m also pretty tired,” Santana said, getting up on her feet. “Maybe we should take a break.”

“Come on guys,” Brittany pouted. “We haven’t looked in our room yet, or Sam’s.”

“I don’t really want to go over Sam’s stuff,” Santana said with a slight shiver. “And I seriously don’t think there’s anything in our room.”

“Why not Sam’s stuff?” Brittany asked. “You keep on saying how it’s him and you don’t scour his room? That literally goes against logic.”

“Because he’ll kill us when he finds us going through his stuff!” Quinn cried hysterically. “Besides, if Sam was the killer, he wouldn’t have keys just lying around for us to find. And he will _definitely_ not have fireworks!”

Brittany sighed. “I just want you guys to not give up hope,” she said, bowing her head. “Hope is what keeps us going.”

“Yeah Britt, but I really don’t feel comfortable going through Sam’s stuff. We can search in our room or something, but I’m a bit hungry. Why don’t we take a break now and have some lunch?” Santana suggested.

“Food sounds really good right now,” Quinn muttered. “But what is there to eat? I swear we’re pretty much all out.”

“Out of ready-to-eat food, maybe, but doesn’t mean that we can’t cook,” Brittany said. “I think there’s still some meat and raw veg in the fridge.”

“The meat has probably gone bad by now,” Santana replied. “Let’s just eat a vegetarian meal,” she looked over to Quinn for confirmation.

“Wait,” Quinn said. “You want me to cook our next meal?”

“Uh… yeah?” Brittany drawled, somewhat timid. Quinn thought for a moment.

“Fine,” she frowned. “But you two are my personal bodyguards. As in you hold your sticks in your hands, surrounding me while I cook.”

“That can be arranged,” Santana chuckled. “Although if someone comes at us with a knife we will run and you can fling hot food onto their face.”

“That’s a waste of food!” Quinn exclaimed.

“Better than your death,” Santana replied quickly. “We don’t have the sticks though. It’s still in the studio.”

“Then we’ll go to the studio, get the sticks, get Quinn to cook, then we can eat,” Brittany suggested.

“Why don’t we just eat in the studio?” Santana said. “We could just stay there for the rest of the day.”

“Nah, let’s look through our room first,” Brittany said. “Then we can go to the studio and this time you can challenge Quinn’s dancing,” she continued with a smirk.

“Okay,” Santana huffed. “Should we go now?”

“Chef Quinn, duty calls.” Brittany addressed Quinn. Quinn rolled her eyes and gestured for Brittany to leave the room first. Then Quinn left, followed by Santana.

***

“How do you cook so well, Q?” Santana asked, patting her now bloated stomach. The girls were now sat in their room, about to search it. Brittany was sat on the bed, while Santana was too full to sit and Quinn was sat on a chair next to the bedside table. They decided that if they found nothing here they would just go to the studio and give up searching for the day, and they can rethink their strategies.

“My mum hates cooking,” Quinn replied. “So she taught me as soon as she could so that she wouldn’t have to cook much more.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Brittany said. “My mum would never let me in the kitchen,” she continued sadly. “She’s afraid that I would burn down the house.”

“I could teach you, Britt,” Quinn said. “With proper, uh, supervision, you won’t burn down the house.”

“That’s really nice, Quinn, but I fear that you’d never get the chance to teach me,” Brittany replied, slightly sadly. This was quite interesting to Santana. Normally Brittany was the optimist, able to hold on to hope and stay happy even in the most difficult situations. But it seemed like even Brittany couldn’t stay hopeful in this dire predicament. Maybe the harsh reality is starting to catch up to her.

“Don’t say that Britt,” Santana scolded. “You will become an amazing cook, I can see it right now. Maybe even better than Quinn.”

“Impossible,” Quinn chuckled. “I would never let you get better than me.”

“Who knows?” Brittany shrugged with a half-smile. “Maybe I have talent. I never really tried to cook, I guess. I’ll probably never get the chance again.” A lone tear escaped Brittany’s eyelashes.

“Hey, I thought you were the one to tell me to stop crying?” Quinn rushed over to sit next over Brittany on the bed. “Come on, no more tears.”

“Yeah, I’m being silly,” Brittany wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m just wondering, what did you guys want to do after we graduated?”

“Well, I’d probably go to college,” Santana said. “We probably all are.”

“No, I mean as a career, what did you guys want to do?” Brittany elaborated.

“Well, my family has high expectations of me, I think they wanted me to follow my dad’s footsteps, and that’s being a doctor. But honestly, I don’t think I want to become a doctor. I don’t want to be the type of person who looks at ill people, because that just doesn’t seem very fun. I guess I don’t want to be some kind of surgeon either, as I don’t want to have to cut people open. You can probably tell that bloody bodies and I don’t mix together very well,” Santana chuckled, then continued. “I guess I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It comes with great prestige, it’s a job that my family would be proud of, and it seems quite interesting, I guess. I mean, I can fight for justice, and condemn people to what they deserve if I prepare my case well enough. It gives you a great sense of accomplishment.”

“That’s admirable,” Brittany said, slightly in awe. “My dream isn’t really that impressive,” Brittany started to blush but didn’t say anything more.

“What is your dream?” Quinn prompted.

“I want to be a teacher,” Brittany mumbled.

Santana chuckled. “Really?”

Brittany nodded bashfully. “I think that being a teacher would make me feel super smart. But I guess I don’t want to be a high school teacher or anything, I don’t think I will be able to deal with those kids. Also, I probably will forget the things I’m meant to teach, I probably won’t be a very good high school teacher.” Brittany gave a small wistful laugh. “If I could choose, I’d want to teach little kids. Maybe like first grade people. They’re so cute! And you don’t have to teach them hard stuff. I think I’ll definitely be able to manage.”

“Aww,” Quinn cooed. “That’s adorable! I bet you will be an amazing teacher.”

“Yeah,” Santana agreed. “You’re so good with kids, I bet they will love you.”

Brittany smiled weakly. “So, what about you Quinn? What would you like to do in the future?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Quinn started. “But I guess I’ve always wanted to become an architect.”

Brittany raised her eyebrows. “Woah, that sounds really cool!” Santana nodded in agreement.

“It is,” Quinn concurred. “I’ve just always been fascinated by buildings I guess.”

“What kind of architect?” Santana questioned. “Like doing interior design? Or designing buildings?”

“I guess designing buildings,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “Probably design some landmarks too. I don’t know, The Shard in London looks really cool. I don’t really know if I’ll be good though. I’ve never really tried it.”

“Exactly,” Brittany said encouragingly. “You never tried it. Just like me cooking. How would you know you won’t be good? I think you’ll be amazing.” Quinn blushed, but Brittany kept going. “You’re a really creative and artsy person, Quinn. I can totally see you sitting at an office table, just drawing designs of buildings.”

“Thanks, Brittany, but it’s just a dream,” Quinn said a little sadly.

“Yeah,” Brittany deflated. “It’s just a dream. We’ll probably never live to see ourselves graduate, let alone see ourselves achieve our dreams.”

“Don’t say that,” Santana chastised. “We never know.”

“You know it’s true Santana,” Brittany gave a sad smile. “Hey, who knows, maybe we’ll achieve them in another life.”

“Yeah, maybe, in another life,” Quinn echoed absently.

This talk’s mood had shifted for the worse a little too quickly for Santana’s liking, so she quickly spoke up. “Come on guys, let’s search this room and if nothing comes up we can party downstairs.”

“Okay,” Brittany breathed, getting up from her bed.

***

“Hey, look at what I found!” Santana called from the corner of the room.

“What is that?” Quinn asked as she made her way towards where Santana was. She was holding a glass bottle in her had triumphantly.

“Hold up,” Brittany said, coming over as well and seeing what was in Santana’s hand. “Is that… booze?”

“I think so,” Santana grinned. “It was in that cabinet,” she said pointing to the open cabinet in the corner of their bedroom. “You think that this is good to drink?”

“It should be,” Brittany said. “I thought Puck said that there was no booze in this house?”

“That’s what he said,” Santana replied. “But didn’t mean that it was true.”

“Wait, so that has been in our room the whole entire time, and none of us knew?” Quinn asked incredulously.

“It definitely seems like it,” Santana nodded. “I mean, we never used this cabinet before so I don’t see why we would open it. Turned out that Britt’s idea of looking in our room was a great idea.”

Brittany beamed. “Well, I didn’t find anything useful in my area of the room, but Santana did. Should we drink it?”

“Wait a second,” Quinn put a hand in front of her. “How is finding alcohol in any way ‘useful’? That’s not going to help us escape.”

“Yes, it is,” Brittany said in a just-so manner. Quinn looked at her quizzically. Brittany’s lips broke out into a huge grin and she concluded, “It helps us escape from reality!”

“Poof!” Santana mimicked an explosion with her hands spreading apart before she gave Brittany a high five and both of the girls started to giggle hysterically.

“You sure you guys aren’t drunk already?” Quinn scowled. “Get yourselves together! Or am I the only one who wants to survive?”

“Don’t be a killjoy Quinn,” Brittany pouted. “Just let yourself go again. Have some fun with us! This time we can get high!”

“They’re not drugs Britt,” Quinn said pointedly. Brittany continued to pout. “Fine. I give up. There’s no point in looking anyway. What were we even looking for?”

“Fireworks,” Santana chuckled.

“Yeah, we’re not going to have any of that here. It was a stupid idea to look for _fireworks_ in this house anyway. Whatever. Screw it. Let’s go to the studio,” Quinn said.

“To the studio we go!” Brittany cheered, starting to make her way to the door. “Take with the booze with you Sanny!”

“Will do!” Santana called back, grabbing some of her things and making her way towards the door as well.

“Let’s get drunk!” Brittany whooped, unlocking the door and striding outside. Santana followed her, leaving Quinn no choice but to trail behind as well.

***

“Ugh, Britt, why are you so… sexy?” Santana slurred as she placed sloppy kisses on Brittany’s lips while the music played in the background.

“Get off me San,” Brittany giggled, a little tipsy but nowhere near as drunk as Santana. “Your lips feel like a fish right now.”

“No!” Santana whined. “I want my sweet lady kisses…”

Brittany gripped Santana’s waist and lifted her off her body, then plopped a limp Santana onto the seat next to her. “Not now, San, we’ll have some more later,” she promised.

“Later,” Santana mumbled incoherently before her eyes closed and she passed out.

Brittany looked over to Quinn. “I think she’s drunk,” she whispered.

“Yeah, no way,” Quinn scoffed. “I kind of need a cigarette right now.”

Brittany frowned. “A cigarette? Why? I didn’t know you smoked.”

Quinn’s hazel eyes met cerulean blue ones. “I don’t. I just want to try one before the killer gets me. There’s got to be a reason why so many people smoke, right? It’s got to feel really good.”

“I don’t think so,” Brittany said. “Smoke stinks. When I’m near someone who is smoking I cough because it smells so bad,” she wrinkled her nose. “Imagine inhaling that smoke straight into your lungs. That would literally be the worst feeling.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Quinn sighed. “I just want to try things in life. Things that I’ll probably never experience. Like, I don’t know, go ride on a real pony or something. Or experience an orgasm.”

“Wait you’ve never ridden a horse before?” Brittany asked. “It’s really fun. At first, I was really scared because I thought I was going to fall but after a few minutes, it was so fun! Also, I got to stroke the horse’s mane the whole way, it was so soft!” The next part of what Quinn said registered into Brittany’s brain. “Hold up,” Brittany’s dreamy smile left her lips completely. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

Quinn shook her head. “My sex life was horrible. I’ve had sex once and got pregnant. And it hurt more than it felt good. Honestly, it didn’t feel good at all.”

“That must suck,” Brittany sighed, feeling sad for Quinn. “Well, since I obviously can’t give you one as I don’t want Santana to kill me, I’ll try my best to describe it,” Brittany paused a moment to think. “Well, it’s amazing,” her lips curled up to a small smile. “It feels like you’re in the clouds. You forget everything for a short while and it’s like pure bliss.” Brittany closed her eyes. “You feel weightless, you know? You also see stars that aren’t there. Especially when Santana does that thing when –”

“Please don’t go any further, I get the point.” Quinn’s voice trembled. “It really sounds amazing. But really, I don’t think that what you said can make me understand how it feels.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Quinn,” Brittany said sincerely, seeing how Quinn was visibly upset. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s okay,” Quinn mumbled, wiping at her eyes. “But tell me, what does it feel like to be in love?”

“Better than anything you can imagine,” Brittany said. “You get all these butterflies in your belly whenever you think of them. You just want to spend every passing moment in their presence, be with them all the time. It feels like with them, anything is possible.” Brittany looked over at Quinn again. “I’m sorry, did I upset you again?”

“No,” Quinn sighed. After a few seconds, a choked sob finally escaped her lips and tears started to fall down her face. “I don’t understand. Why does no one love me for who I am? Everyone I’ve been with, they just liked me for my image. They just thought that I was a worthless pretty face. Some cheerleader that can help boost their reputation. Is there something wrong with me?” Quinn asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with you Quinn, don’t ever think that,” Brittany said softly. “I think that you should just be yourself. Not the stuck-up, manipulating head cheerio you were before. Not someone who would throw someone else under the bus for your own gain. I think that Santana had the same problem. She lived under this mask, this shell, but when she finally came out, it was like the best thing that happened. Maybe you should just come out of your own shell and be yourself.”

“It’s a bit too late for that, don’t you think?” Quinn wept. “There are so many things I’ve done that I would like to change.”

“What would that be?” Brittany asked.

“For one thing, I would’ve never tried for head Cheerio. At the end of the day, it means nothing. I worked too hard for it and for what? I got so lost in it that for a while I forgot who I was for a while. I guess the pregnancy was a wake-up call. It got me to regather myself and just, you know, take a step back from everything and look at it as a whole, you know? I became a better person. So, um, I guess I have Noah to thank for that.”

“There you go,” Brittany smiled. “Looking at things positively. Look, Quinn, I really don’t think this is the end. Even if we don’t make it out here alive. You can find love in another life, okay? You believe in reincarnation?”

“I don’t even know,” Quinn sighed.

“Well, I do. You will be given another chance at life, we probably will all be, and you will get the chance to make everything right, okay? Just be yourself. No more HBIC crap. No more being at the top of the social ladder. You are an awesome person, people will be falling at your feet just for you, okay?” Brittany said.

“But I won’t remember you guys,” Quinn said.

“That doesn’t matter. You will make new friends. Lots of them, in fact. You will get married to a handsome man, or a beautiful woman,” Brittany added with a chuckle, “And become the world’s best architect. Just believe.”

“I really wish what you’re saying is true, Britt,” Quinn said. “Although my family believes in an afterlife.”

“Even then, an afterlife wouldn’t be that bad. You get to see everyone again. We’ll have an eternity together.”

“Yeah, that actually doesn’t sound that bad,” Quinn sighed. “But I’m still so scared of dying.”

“Don’t be,” Brittany replied. “It will probably be like falling asleep. I don’t think it will hurt or anything.”

“You don’t believe we’ll get out of here either, do you Britt?” Quinn asked, somewhat fearfully.

“To be honest, no,” Brittany sighed. “But I’ve come to accept that. I don’t mind spending my last days with you guys. I love you, Quinn.”

“As a friend of course,” Quinn added.

“As a friend of course,” Brittany confirmed, smiling.

Quinn sighed again, leaning back so that her head hit the wall behind her. “Say we did make it out alive. Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“In ten years?” Brittany said. “Hmm, I’ll be happily married to Santana and have many lady babies with her, I guess.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that,” Quinn said wistfully.

The sound of Santana groaning made its way into their ears.

“Well, I guess we should head upstairs now,” Brittany suggested. “We’ve been down here for hours now, I can only imagine how tired you are.”

“Yeah, I am pretty tired,” Quinn replied. “Should we get some food? I’m a bit hungry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Brittany said. She shook Santana’s shoulders. “Wakey wakey! You want to get some food?”

Confused brown eyes opened. “Ugh, my head hurts,” Santana groaned, clutching her head.

“Yeah, you were really drunk. Come on, let’s go upstairs. We’ll grab some food on the way,” Brittany said.

“Okay,” Santana mumbled, blinking a few times to wake herself up.

“I’m not cooking this time,” Quinn warned.

“I know, Q. We’ll just get some bread or something.”

***

“Who wants to do the first shift today?” Santana asked. “I don’t really want to go first, I’m really tired and I need to sleep.”

“I’ll go,” Quinn volunteered. “I think that the killer strikes in the early morning. Plus, I just want to get my shift done with so that I can sleep.”

“Okay,” Santana said. “Well Britt, do you mind taking the second shift?”

“I think that we should change up the way we do shifts,” Brittany suggested. “Since I think that the killer strikes closer to midnight rather than early morning, we should probably have two people awake in the first shift. Well, Santana, since you’re tired and a bit hungover you can sleep for the first shift, and I’ll take it along with Quinn. She might need company, anyway, doing shifts is kind of boring. Right now it’s ten, so at two o’clock, I’ll send Quinn off to sleep and then I’ll take the shift for two more hours. At four in the morning, I’ll go to bed and I’ll wake you up, Santana, and you can take watch until we wake.”

“Yeah, that’s actually a very good idea,” Quinn said. “I don’t really feel comfortable doing my shift alone anyway.”

“But, Britt, that would mean that you only get like three or four hours of sleep,” Santana argued.

“Who said that?” Brittany replied. “I’ll sleep in the morning. Just don’t wake me up when you get up and I’ll be fine.”

Santana thought for a bit. “Okay,” she said. “You sure you will be fine like this?”

“Positive,” Brittany nodded. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll sleep longer and you and Quinn can take the first shift, and I’ll take the last shift. We can do some kind of a rotation system.”

“Aren’t you smart Brittany,” Quinn smiled, ruffling Brittany’s hair.

Brittany smiled bashfully. “I try,” she mumbled.

“Well, it’s settled. I’m going to go to sleep now, I’m pretty tired, and you two wake me if anything happens, alright?” Santana said.

“Copy that,” Brittany replied.

“Okay, well, good night. I sleep better with the lights off, so if you don’t mind, please switch it off and when I’m asleep you can switch it back on if you want.”

“Okay,” Quinn said. Santana walked over to the bed and climbed in. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed before they even had a chance to switch off the light.

“Is she already asleep?” Brittany asked, amused.

“No, not yet, I’m trying to though. Lights off please,” Santana called, flipping so that her back was facing the two girls now.

Brittany turned to Quinn after the light is turned off. “Hi.”

“Hi?” Quinn’s voice echoed in the room.

“What should we do now?”

~

I don’t really know why, but I’m feeling really nervous right now.

I’m scared.

Pfft. What do I have to be scared of? It’s just another day, another night, another kill.

Anyway, you may be wondering who I am going to target right now.

Maybe I should do a little less targeting. After all, all of this is getting quite difficult. Everyone knows what is coming, and they either prepare really well to prevent me from getting to them, or they catch me off guard and attack me. Tina and Mercedes nearly succeeded, so I need to prepare for all kinds of things to happen.

This next kill will break my heart. Not really. I don’t know. Depends on how it goes.

Brittany, I’m coming for you.

Ha, I wish. No, really now. I’m coming for you.

Ugh, that sounds so wrong on so many different levels.

Brittany takes the second shift tonight. Well, actually she took the first shift as well, but she is taking the second shift alone so that is the perfect time to strike.

Gives me a bit of déjà vu, actually. A bit like Tina? I attacked her during her shift as well.

I had been scouring in the kitchen a bit, and I managed to find some anaesthetics. I don’t want to inflict any kind of pain on her. It will all be painless.

It’s a little risky.

I’m really sorry, Brittany. You had a good run. I really liked you. You don’t like me back.

Enough with the sentiments. Let’s get to work.

Hopefully, she won’t know what’s coming to her.

I take out the key to their room and unlock the door. I rush forward and jab the needle into her arm. I don’t actually think that she has the energy to protest, because it is too late.

I had expected more resistance. It really wasn’t that hard.

After all, Puck had done a number on her. She is physically weak right now. Maybe emotionally weak as well. I know that Mercedes kept on saying that she’s a psychopath. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but I have come to accept that, yes, she is a psychopath.

She is not just bipolar. Her brain is wrong in so many different ways. Oh, how I wish she wasn’t like this! Maybe things would be a different.

You may wonder how I know. Everything you need to know can be found in her room. She is schizophrenic. She may have cases of DID, or dissociative identity disorder, I’m not sure. I don’t think that DID is a recognised mental illness. As far as I know, it’s not. There probably isn’t even a diagnosis for it.

Anyway.

I don’t bother closing the door behind me as she is dragged into the bathroom. There isn’t really a point, I don’t think.

Oh shit.

I haven’t set up the bath!

I don’t bother making it warm. It takes a few minutes. When it is all done, I dip a tentative hand inside and hiss.

It is cold!

Should I do it?

Yes, I have to do it.

I lift her and the cold water envelopes her body. Yes, I know that she still has her clothes on, but there isn’t really a point in taking her clothes off for this.

She floats a little on the water.

It’s time now.

I push her head underneath the surface on the water. A few bubbles rise to the surface, but I persist.

I’m having second thoughts. I don’t think I want to do this anymore.

It’s risky.

No, I have to.

Her head bobs up and down, occasionally popping to the surface. I just push it back down.

I need to stop having this internal argument with myself.

Damn, the water is really cold!

Her head doesn’t come back up.

I slowly let go, and her head stays down.

I wait.

It’s been minutes. Maybe a bit longer. Could’ve been half an hour. I don’t know, time passes weirdly during these times.

Yes, I know that this death is really slow, but she deserves a merciful one.

She can’t feel anything. Actually, neither can I.

Not anymore.

I clench my eyes shut. I don’t know why, but I want to cry.

It’s risky.

I chance a glance again. Her head stays in the water. No more bubbles are rising to the surface. I don’t think any had been for a while now.

I hear some shuffling nearby. Is someone awake?

Shit.


	10. Day 9

“Santana, wake up!” Quinn’s rather frantic voice made its way into the brunette’s ears. “Wake up!” This time it was a little louder.

Santana started to stir. Her head was pounding. Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk so much booze yesterday. Because now she was paying for the consequences. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, letting out a sleepy groan in the process.

“What’s the matter, Quinn? Is it time for my shift?” Santana said groggily. She really wasn’t ready for a shift. If she was to guard Quinn and Brittany she probably wouldn’t do a good job. She’ll probably tell Quinn as much and apologise in the morning for making them sleep-deprived.

“No!” Quinn hissed desperately. “The door is open!”

That caught Santana’s attention. Her sleepiness instantly cleared and she sat up straight in her bed. The room was a little too bright for her liking, but her eyes adjusted rapidly. The light was on. This meant that it was still night-time.

“What do you mean, the door is open?” Santana asked, her voice still a little low as she just woke up but fully alert.

“Look there!” Quinn pointed at the door. “It’s open! And Brittany’s not here!”

Santana’s blood ran cold as she turned her gaze towards where Quinn was pointing towards. The door was wide open. She could see the corridor from here.

“No,” Santana gaped. “No, it can’t be. Where’s Brittany? Brittany!” Santana called.

“Shush!” Quinn hissed. “Brittany’s not in this room. And… the door is open. That can only mean one thing, right?” Quinn said fearfully, seriously hoping that she was wrong.

“No,” Santana gasped. “No!” She got out of her bed and put on a jacket rapidly. “Where the hell is she?”

“I don’t know!” Quinn’s voice trembled. “We need to find her!”

“Stick with me, Q,” Santana ordered, trying her best to stay calm but failing miserably. “She will be fine. She has to be.”

Together, they ran out of the room.

***

“There!” Quinn pointed towards the far side of the corridor, where there was a little bit of light coming out of the left-hand turn. “The light’s on!”

Without giving a response, Santana nearly sprinted towards where the light was, Quinn following closely behind. The bathroom light was on, but the door was slightly closed. Santana made a move to go and open it, but Quinn’s arm stopped her.

“Santana, I don’t think that’s a good idea!” she hissed. “What if it is a trap?”

“I don’t fucking care Quinn, my girlfriend’s in there!” Santana hissed back harshly. “If the killer is in there they will be more scared of me than I am scared of them!”

Quinn’s grip on Santana loosened, and Santana barged into the bathroom.

What she saw next was something that would traumatise her for life, however much she had left.

Brittany was submerged in the bathtub. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was extremely pale and slightly blue.

“No,” Santana clapped a hand over her mouth. “Brittany!” she shouted before rushing forward and lifting Brittany’s head out of the bathtub.

Brittany’s head flopped back, her entire body was dead weight. She was completely limp.

“No!” Santana cried, tears harshly stinging her eyes. “NO! Brittany!” she shouted into the blonde’s face. There was no response. “Please! Wake up!”

Santana started to shake Brittany in her arms. Brittany’s head lolled from side to side, body fully compliant with her motions. Santana desperately clawed her hands into the water, lifting Brittany’s entire body up and out of the water. She was extremely heavy, as she was completely dead weight, and the water had soaked into her clothes, but Santana managed. She felt Brittany’s face with her hand.

“Her skin is really cold,” Santana rasped. She then shook Brittany harder. “Please! Don’t do this to me! Wake up! Please! I beg you, wake up!” Tears streamed down Santana’s face and landed on the floor, but Santana could not care less.

Quinn hesitantly stepped forward and placed a hand on Santana’s shoulder. “Santana, I don’t think she’s –”

“Shut the fuck up Quinn!” Santana shrieked hysterically. “Brittany!” Santana planted a hard kiss onto Brittany’s ice-cold lips, in the wild hope that she would wake up. Brittany did not reciprocate at all.

“Santana, she’s not Snow White,” Quinn said tentatively. “I think she’s –”

“I cannot give a flying fuck what you think Quinn!” Santana cried. “Shut up! Shut up!” She turned her attention back to Brittany. “Britt!” her pleas and calls were losing power. Santana’s throat hurt.

Brittany was still hanging limply in Santana’s arms.

“Ahhhh!” Santana screamed at the top of her lungs. “AAAAHHHHHHH! NOOOOOO! AAAHHHHH!”

“What the hell is happening?” Mike rushed into the bathroom.

Quinn looked at Mike sadly as Santana continued to hysterically scream and cry in the background. She gestured to the girl in Santana’s arms.

“Oh shit,” Mike gasped, mouth open in pure shock. “No,” he rushed over to Brittany, who was still in Santana’s arms. “No!” he choked back a sob, but he couldn’t keep the tears from coming. He tucked a strand of wet blonde hair behind Brittany’s ear. “No!” Mike wept, completely breaking down.

Quinn really wanted to cry too, but she didn’t. Santana really needed her right now. She needed to be strong for her, strong for everyone.

“What happened?” Sam burst into the room. Santana’s screams ceased as soon as she heard Sam’s voice. She set Brittany down gently onto the floor with the utmost care, then turned to fix Sam with the most murderous stare that Quinn had ever seen her have. It was absolutely terrifying. There was so much fire in her eyes and hate that it could set everything around her ablaze.

“You,” she seethed, her voice dangerously low. “You did this. What the fuck? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I’M GOING TO KILL YOU! YOU’RE GOING TO WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN!” Santana stood up and with incredible agility spun around so that she was facing the entrance where Sam was standing at. She sprinted towards Sam and rugby tackled him onto the ground. She started to throw heavy punches into Sam’s face. “Fuck you! FUCK YOU! YOU FUCKING LONELY CUNT! YOU KILLED HER! YOU FUCKING WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

Sam wasn’t in good shape when Quinn and Mike grabbed her by her waist and yanked her back. He was groaning on the floor in pain, face a mixture of blue and green and red, and his arm was bent at an awkward angle.

Santana was fighting so hard against Quinn and Mike’s hold that even they were struggling against the small fiery brunette. Santana thrashed violently, intent on getting back at Sam.

“Stop it!” Quinn shouted into Santana’s ear. “STOP IT! You’re going to kill him!”

“That’s the fucking point!” Santana shouted back. “Let me go!”

“However much you want to kill him,” Mike said. “You still have no proof. You can’t be 100% sure it’s him.”

“Who else can it be then?” Santana screamed. “Me? You? Quinn? No! IT’S FUCKING SAM! It’s always been him! I knew it from the start!”

“I would never kill Brittany!” Sam shouted back, now sitting up and resting against the wall. “Never!”

“Well you did!” Santana shrieked. “You did and you are going to pay!”

“Stop it!” Mike ordered. “Quinn, help me take her back to her room.”

“No!” Santana screamed as Mike and Quinn started to carry her away from the bathroom and towards her own bedroom. “Britt! BRITTANY!” she managed to sneak a last peek at her now late girlfriend, who was still lying limply on the floor much to Santana’s despair, before Mike and Quinn dragged her out of the bathroom.

Santana felt exhausted. Her throat felt like it was on fire. She had no more energy to scream. She had no more energy to fight. She had no more energy to live.

Santana huffed and began to cry defeatedly into Quinn’s shoulder. It was heart-wrenching.

Mike and Quinn reached the entrance of their bedroom.

“You take Santana and go get some more rest,” Mike said. “I’ll deal with Britt’s body.”

“Okay,” Quinn sighed. Mike nodded and left, heading back towards the bathroom. “Santana, come lie down on the bed okay?”

Santana had no more energy to protest. She let Quinn guide her to the bed, where she laid down heavily and Quinn tucked her beneath the covers. Quinn then joined her.

“I promised I would keep her safe,” Santana wept. “I promised.”

“It’s okay, San, it’s okay. She’s in a better place now. She’s watching over us,” Quinn whispered.

Santana kept crying into Quinn’s chest until she had no more energy and fell asleep. That’s when Quinn’s tears started to come. Quinn cried silently, stroking Santana’s dark brown hair until she ran out of tears. She quickly fell asleep after, holding on tightly to Santana.

***

Quinn rubbed her eyes as she finally woke up a few hours later. By now the sunlight was seeping through the curtains, illuminating the otherwise dark room. At first, Quinn was surprised to find that the door was open, but after recalling what had transpired a few hours ago she wasn’t surprised that neither her nor Santana cared to close and lock the door. After all, they had just lost one of their best friends. Quinn’s heart constantly hurt at the thought of the bubbly blonde, and she could not bear to imagine how the loss of Brittany must feel for Santana. After all, Brittany had been Santana’s one and only love, they were each other’s soulmates and were probably destined to grow old together, where they would die together peacefully on their deathbed. Quinn had never been in love before but judging by what Brittany had told her yesterday it was an absolutely awesome feeling. Having it shattered due to your loved one’s tragic death will be unbearable. For once, Quinn was glad she hadn’t found love at this stage in life. Because she wouldn’t know how to live with herself had her other half died. Quinn sat up, blinking out the remains of sleep in her eyes. Her eyes felt really swollen and puffy, and she could imagine how horrible she looked right now. Glancing to the body next to her, Santana looked no better, if not worse. Her eyes were closed, but they were swollen so much they were bulging, and you could see the tear tracks along the length of her face, primarily in her cheeks. Her nose was red, and she sniffs every so often in her sleep. Quinn felt sympathetic for Santana, so she laid back down and hugged Santana close to her.

Santana started to wake up too, as soon as Quinn’s arms came in contact with Santana’s body. When her eyes opened slightly, Quinn was a little surprised at how horrible she looked. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She must not have slept well. However, as Santana started to give small groans as she rose closer and closer to the surface of consciousness, she smiled into Quinn’s chest.

Wait a second.

Smiled?

“Britt,” she mumbled contently, snuggling closer to Quinn. Oh. That made Quinn’s heart break all over again. Santana thought that Quinn was Brittany, probably because she saw some blonde hair. Her eyes must have been so swollen that she could not see very well, as Quinn and Brittany didn’t exactly look similar or had the same body shape.

“Hmm, you don’t feel like Britt,” Santana frowned, eyes squeezing closed tighter. She shifted a little bit, trying to get comfortable before she realised that she was not cuddling into Brittany.

Her mocha eyes opened again, but this time they cleared and Santana squinted a little to get a closer look at who she was snuggling into. Her head rose to look at Quinn’s face, and Quinn did her best to offer a small smile, make everything seem like it’s okay, like Brittany’s just at the other side of the room, if only for a split second. However, as nothing was okay, Quinn couldn’t quite manage a smile.

“Q-Quinn?” Santana muttered, frown a little deeper than before. A few seconds passed while Santana regained her bearings. Then everything that happened hours ago came rushing back to Santana.

“N-no,” Santana choked. “My Britt-Britt,” she started to sob again. “My love…”

Quinn did her best to shush Santana as if she was a little kid whose ice cream dropped onto the floor. “Come on now, please don’t cry, you’ll make me cry as well,” Quinn whispered.

“My eyes hurt,” Santana gasped. “Brittany…”

Quinn really wanted to say something that may make Santana feel even a tiny bit better, but no ideas popped into her head. She wanted to say that everything was going to be okay, but no, everything was not okay, and wasn’t going to be okay. For one thing, the killer could be going for them next, so they didn’t have much time in their lives left. Also, even if they miraculously manage to escape this wretched house and go back home, Brittany’s death would haunt them for eternity. Santana would never be the same again. She would probably become some kind of empty shell, not doing anything with her life. Probably become one of those people who drink their life away. She will never become a successful lawyer. This ‘vacation’ has ruined their life, no matter what happens.

“W-Why her?” Santana whimpered. “Why didn’t they take me instead…” Another choked sob escaped Santana’s lips, except no more tears fell out of her eyes. Quinn guessed that Santana had ran out of tears to cry. “I promised I would protect her… Why did I get so drunk? I should’ve been with her for her shift… I’m an idiot!” Santana’s voice trembled a lot as she spoke, so Quinn had a little trouble making out what Santana was saying. “My Brittany… my Britt-Britt… no… no…”

Quinn didn’t know what to do. She held on to Santana tighter as Santana continued to mumble incoherent things into Quinn’s chest. Quinn rocked them back and forth slowly, stroking long lines across the brunette’s back, but she knew that it wouldn’t help with how Santana’s feeling. She didn’t want to insult Santana by trying to empathise with her, because she could never know how Santana’s feeling. Quinn already felt immense sadness at the passing of her best friend. Santana was probably feeling a hundred times worse.

“My love… Brittany… why didn’t you wake us up? No…”

Quinn decided that while she couldn’t make Santana stop dry crying or make her feel any better, she could offer a distraction so that Santana would momentarily forget her late girlfriend’s death.

“You p-promised that we w-would grow old together,” Santana wheezed. “T-That we would get married and have a f-family. Oh, Britt, why can’t I protect you? I d-don’t deserve you…”

“Santana?” Quinn started tentatively. Santana didn’t hear her, she kept sobbing and mumbling things into Quinn’s chest. “Santana,” she said a little louder. Santana stopped and looked up with crestfallen eyes.

“What Quinn?”

“You want to go eat some food?”

“I don’t really have an appetite,” Santana groaned.

“Well just eat something with me anyway,” Quinn said.

“Fine,” Santana sighed dejectedly. She got up shakily from the bed and stalked towards the exit like a zombie.

“Are you not worried that you are out there alone?” Quinn asked as Santana walked into the corridor, barely looking at where she was going.

“If Sam wants to get me, let him,” Santana croaked. “I don’t even care anymore. I’ll get to see Britt again.” With that, Santana turned and disappeared to the right-hand side. At first, Quinn was confused as to why Santana went that way, as the staircase was on the left-hand side, but Quinn then realised that Santana was going to the bathroom. Maybe she thought that Brittany was still there and she wanted to see her for one last time? Maybe she didn’t know that Mike and possibly Sam had carried her out to put her with the other dead bodies in the yard.

Quinn followed Santana into the bathroom, where the brunette was on her knees next to the bathtub.

“She’s g-gone,” Santana whimpered. “Where did they take her?”

“Mike put her body in the backyard,” Quinn replied slowly.

“Let’s go to the backyard,” Santana said immediately, getting to her feet, seemingly with a lot of effort.

“Um, San, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Quinn said tentatively. “There are also a lot of other dead bodies there. Some have been dead for a week now. They’d be rotten.”

“You make a point,” Santana sighed. “I just want to see her again, you know? Tell her how much I loved her. I love her so much it hurts…”

“I know Santana. But she is watching us from above right now and I know for a fact that she would want us to keep going with our lives. Never give up, okay? We can make it out of here.”

“It won’t be the same…” Santana dipped her head. “Not without my Britt-Britt…”

“Come on Santana, let’s go get some food,” Quinn said.

Santana didn’t respond, she simply trudged past Quinn and towards the staircase.

Quinn bit her lip to stop any tears from coming out of her eyes and left the bathroom, following closely behind the broken brunette in front of her.

***

Santana was wordlessly munching on a slab of rather hard bread when Mike came into the dining hall and sat opposite them. While he didn’t look nearly as bad as Santana right now, it was evident that he had also been crying. Quinn didn’t really know how she looked herself, as she hadn’t looked in the mirror yet, but she would imagine that she looked about as bad as Mike. She was sat next to Santana, eating her own really hard and probably stale bread, and Mike got a rather bruised banana out and started to eat it.

None of them spoke for a few minutes. There simply just weren’t any words to be said.

Mike finally broke the deafening silence.

“I’m really sorry San, um, about Britt,” he said quietly. Santana merely continued to eat her bread. It didn’t even seem like she heard what Mike had said.

“Um, did you take her body?” Quinn asked.

Mike nodded. “Yeah, I put her in the backyard.” It was silence after that. No one had anything to say.

“I think that we can all agree that it was Sam who killed Britt, right?” Santana suddenly croaked. “It _is_ Sam, right?”

“Um, well, I’m not entirely sure, but it is definitely looking like him right now,” Mike said, rubbing the back of his head.

“I d-don’t understand why he went for Britt-Britt,” she choked. “I thought he had a crush on her. He should’ve gone for m-me. He hates me. W-Why not go for me? Why did he g-go for Britt?”

“Yesterday, I don’t think that Sam had a very positive reaction to finding out that you girls got back together,” Mike noted. “Didn’t he just leave the room?”

“Yeah, maybe he went for Britt because he realised that he had no chance,” Quinn said carefully. “He probably did it out of spite. Maybe make you hurt, Santana. If he killed you he would’ve seen a broken Brittany and I don’t think that he would’ve wanted to see that.”

“I don’t know what I want more,” Santana mumbled. “Me to kill Sam with the most painful death that I can imagine, or him to just kill me and get life over and done with. I just want to see my Britt-Britt again. Is that too much to ask? Just see her again.”

“We’ll figure out a way,” Mike said gravely, feeling a bit bad for Santana. “We will take out Sam, together, and I’ll find us an escape route, okay?”

“I’m not sure I want to escape anymore,” Santana muttered. “There’s nothing for me outside. A part of me died when I found out that Britt died. I don’t want to live without Britt. I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Quinn said. “You still have me.”

“You’re not the same, Quinn. You may be blonde, but you’re not Brittany. She has no replacement.” Santana said.

“You’re right,” Quinn said. “But I can help you get better. You will get over her eventually.”

“Do you have any idea how insensitive you are being right now?” Santana snarled. “Maybe I _don’t_ want to get over her. She is the _only_ one for me, I can’t see myself with _anyone_ else. There’s nothing left for me in life.”

Mike sighed. “We are not going to let Sam win this. I don’t know why he suddenly decided to come and kill all of us. I know one thing though. Good always beats evil. Sam will not win. We will.”

“Mike’s right,” Quinn said, trying to be encouraging. “We will make Sam pay for what he did.”

“I don’t see how that matters. I don’t want to get Sam back anymore. His death won’t bring Britt back.” Santana said despondently.

“It won’t, you’re right. But I will still try to find us an escape. I’ll let you girls know if I do, okay?” Mike said, throwing the banana peel into the bin. “Just remember this, Brittany will live on inside us. She’s not gone. She will never be gone. Live your life for her.” With that, Mike left the room, leaving Santana and Quinn at the dining table.

“Brittany would want me to live my life,” Santana sighed.

“Yes, she would,” Quinn agreed, feeling a spurt of hope.

Hope. Hope was what Quinn and Santana desperately needed.

***

“Have you ever wondered how it feels to die?” Santana asked, fiddling with her fingers. She and Quinn were sat on the bed in their room. They decided to leave the door wide open because they simply couldn’t find a point to lock it anymore. It takes too much effort and energy which Santana didn’t have and also she didn’t believe that the killer would try and attack them in broad daylight, with both of them fully awake.

“Yes, actually I have,” Quinn answered. “And after a while, I realised that there is no way to know for sure. I’m not sure if I even want to know. So I gave up trying to figure out how it feels to die. Although I did talk to Britt about it yesterday.”

The mention of Brittany’s name made a lone tear come out of Santana’s right eye. “And what did she say?”

“She said that it would be like falling asleep. It would be painless.” Quinn answered.

“God, she’s such an angel,” Santana chuckled softly. “I don’t think that is necessarily true, however. Rachel’s death looked like it hurt. So did Mercedes’. Do you think that Brittany suffered?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn mumbled contemplatively. “She was most likely drowned. I don’t think there was any evidence of struggle, like bruises or water spilled onto the floor, it seemed like a very peaceful death. If there was struggle I think that she would’ve tried to wake us. I think she was already unconscious when she got put into the bathtub.”

“I really hope she didn’t suffer. She was so pure, so innocent, so kind. She didn’t deserve any of this.” Santana sighed.

“I don’t think she suffered,” Quinn answered. “Brittany is a strong and independent woman. She would’ve gone out with a fight. But seeing as there had been no fight I think that she was probably drugged with anaesthetics, or she drank a spiked drink that made her pass out.”

“I guess. Thinking about this hurts,” Santana said, another tear making its way out of her eye. She turned to look at Quinn, straight into her eyes.

“Do you think that I deserve to die?” she asked, in a dead serious manner.

“No one deserves to die, Santana,” Quinn replied firmly.

“Really?” Santana sighed. She took a deep breath. “I failed her. I failed her as a girlfriend. All I did in our time here was push her buttons. I knew she was bipolar but I still tested her temper. I accused her of murder. God, why did I do that? She broke up with me. I made her so angry so many times. On the last day of her life I was drunk, for heaven’s sake! Why am I such a horrible person? I failed her. I didn’t protect her, even though I promised that I would. I didn’t tell her how much I loved her, how it would be impossible for me to live without her, how living without her would be like living without a heart. It’s impossible. I need her in my life. I failed her. I deserve to die.”

“Do not say that Santana.”

Santana ignored her. “Have you ever considered suicide?”

“No, that’s it Santana,” Quinn’s voice was stern and disapproving. “No more pity talk about yourself. Suicide? That’s the most fucking stupid idea I have heard you spout out of your mouth. Do you think that Brittany would want you to commit _suicide_? Say you did and you saw her again. Can you imagine how disappointed she would be?”

“You don’t know what she would want,” Santana argued.

“I think it’s pretty obvious that she wouldn’t want you to commit _suicide_ ,” Quinn spat, the word ‘suicide’ like poison in her mouth. “You are an idiot, Santana.”

“I just don’t want to live anymore,” Santana mumbled defeatedly, starting to break down into sobs. “Breathing is too hard for me. I just want to let go. I just want to see my Britt-Britt again.”

Quinn shook her head. She slapped Santana across her face.

“What was that for?” Santana asked, shock colouring her face.

“I’m slapping you to your senses. There will always be a reason to live. Think about me. What would I do when you’re gone? Losing Brittany was bad enough. Now losing you too? I can’t believe how selfish you are, Santana. You are selfish, always putting your own needs before others’. Am I not reason enough for you to live on? Am I not good enough for you?” Quinn demanded.

Santana took a shaky breath and looked down in shame. “You’re right, Quinn. I still have you. I won’t leave you behind, Quinn, I promise. I know I’m really bad at promises, but I promise I won’t take my own life. I have you. I can get through this. I have you.”

“Yes you do, Santana. You have me. I won’t leave you behind either,” Quinn said sincerely, wrapping her arms around Santana in a hug.

***

“Quinn, you’re, um, a really good friend,” Santana mumbled as she sipped on a can of coke. She along with Quinn were sitting on adjacent chairs in the studio. This time they left the door wide open. If someone wanted to join them they could. Quinn also decided to set up the stereo and play some music. Despite Santana’s requests, Quinn insisted that they played some upbeat and happy songs as some kind of attempt to cheer the broken brunette up.

“Thanks, S. You’re not so bad yourself,” Quinn teased, trying to lighten up the situation.

Santana simply shook her head and continued drinking her coke. No more words were said for several minutes, as the girls just contemplatively stared into the distance.

“It feels so different without her here,” Santana mumbled. “She’s like the glue that holds all of us together. Without her, we’re kind of nothing.”

“Is that all you think of me?” Quinn asked, offended. “We’re ‘nothing’? Yes, Brittany may have been the person that kept us all united, as a group. But that doesn’t mean that without her, we’re nothing! Am I not good enough for you? Am I not enough of a friend?”

“I’m sorry,” Santana said, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, it just seems like we’re both closer to Brittany than we are to each other.”

“That can easily be changed,” Quinn replied. “I think that right now, we need each other the most. Although, yes you are right, I think I was closer to Brittany than with you. But that’s probably because we were bitter rivals more times than I care to admit.”

“That’s true,” Santana mustered a small smile. “I’m not surprised that we were both closer to Britt though. She’s an angel. She’s close to everyone, everyone likes her. I just feel so lucky that I got to share a part of me with her.”

“Yeah, you two were made for each other,” Quinn smiled softly. “I knew it as soon as I laid my eyes upon you two. I knew I was third-wheeling the whole time.”

“Did you feel left out? When… Britt and I got together?” Santana asked.

“Honestly? Yes. I was really jealous of you guys. You always did things together without me, spend nights at each other’s houses without inviting me. But I got over it eventually. I didn’t want to intrude on your guys’ happiness.” Quinn said, somewhat sadly.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Santana said. “It’s just me and you. Don’t think of yourself as a consolation tool, you’re not. I’m so glad I have you. Without you, ugh, I don’t know what I would do with myself.”

Quinn just stared into the distance. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to get closer to Santana because of a tragedy.

The girls sat in silence again, the occasional sound of slurping breaking the silence, for a few minutes.

“Um, guys? Can I join you?” Both girls whipped around to face the door, where the voice came from. It was Sam. He looked absolutely terrible. His face was swollen and bruised, probably courtesy of Santana, his left hand was limp at his side, probably broken, and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot probably because of crying. Although why he would be crying, Quinn didn’t know.

“Um, I’m not sure that’s a good –” Quinn started.

“It’s okay,” Santana sighed. “Let him join.”

“Really?” Quinn asked, surprised. Santana nodded. “Um, okay then.” She gestured for Sam to come in.

Sam looked a little wary. “This isn’t a trap or something, right?” he said, cautiously taking a single step inside the room.

Santana gave a hollow chuckle. “No, Sam. Just come in. We can talk.”

“Okay…” Sam drawled, taking slow steps inside the room, eventually settling down on a chair quite far away from the two girls.

“Have you been crying?” Quinn asked. It was pretty obvious that he had, but Quinn thought that it would be a good starter question that she could lead to asking why he was crying. It confused Quinn. Wasn’t Sam the one who killed Brittany?

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled, shifting heavily in his seat to try and get comfortable.

“May I ask why?” Quinn followed up.

“W-Why?” Sam replied. “What do you mean, _why_? You know what happened this early morning, right? I’m devastated.”

“Why would you be devastated?” Santana said. Quinn was surprised that she didn’t sound hostile, or challenging. Just… defeated. This wasn’t good. Had Santana given up?

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sam sniffed. “I know that you are not going to like hearing this, Santana, but I loved her. She was such a great person. She didn’t deserve any of this. Even if she doesn’t like me back, and I’ve come to accept this a long time ago, she’s still a great friend to me. Of course I’m devastated.”

“W-Why did you kill her then? If you loved her so much like you said, why did you kill her? Why did you kill everyone here? Why?” Santana demanded. Her voice wasn’t very powerful at all, and she looked like she was going to break down again. There was a slight waver in her voice, and her eyes were glazed.

“I beg you, Santana, just stop accusing me,” Sam said, voice breaking. “I swear on my life that it wasn’t me. I have no motive. I would never kill Brittany. Never.”

He looked incredibly sincere, but Quinn didn’t believe him.

“Who do think killed Brittany then?” Quinn asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam gulped. “I swear it’s not me. I don’t want to point fingers at anyone. It just isn’t me.”

“There’s no point in pushing this,” Santana sighed. “But tell me this, Sam. Why do I always get the feeling that it’s you? I’ve thought it was you the whole time. I thought it was you as soon as Finn died. Why does my head keep telling me it’s you?”

“I don’t know,” Sam mumbled, putting his right hand over his left and then instantly wincing. “I guess I’ve been very distant recently. I, um, have a lot of family problems. So that might be why I’ve been acting really strange. I stay distant and quiet as I don’t want to be noticed, don’t want to be targeted. I sneak around looking for things that might help me escape, just like what I think Mike is doing. I don’t know,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes with his good hand.

“What kind of family problems?” Quinn pushed.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m pitying myself. But since you asked, I’ll tell you. I probably won’t get another chance,” Sam broke his gaze on Quinn and stared into the distance, taking a deep breath. “My family used to be perfect. Then one day my mum died of cancer and everything changed. Long story short, now I have an abusive father who is always drunk, I spend more time working than I spend sleeping, I try to keep my family afloat. Now I’m moving away to Kentucky, and I’ll never see you guys again.”

Quinn sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I don’t want pity. I don’t want sympathy. Sometimes, I just wish that the killer would go for me next. Just end all the suffering, you know? Why do you even think I’m still alive? All the suspicion is directed to me and away from the killer, so as long as I’m alive, I’m the main suspect.” Sam said.

“I still think it’s you,” Santana said after a while. “But honestly? I don’t even care anymore. Even if it was you, I don’t want to kill you or anything anymore. It doesn’t bring Britt back. There’s no point. There isn’t a point in anything.”

“That’s what I think too,” Sam sighed. “Hopefully, my end is swift.”

“Mine too,” Santana mumbled.

“Oh, come on, guys! Where’s your incentive to live? What about me? You can’t just leave me behind! You promised!” Quinn nearly shouted.

Santana turned her gaze onto Quinn, eyes dull and defeated. “I said I’m not going to commit suicide. I can’t prevent the inevitable though. Soon, the killer will get me. I just hope that my death is swift.”

Quinn had no answer to that.

***

Sam’s rather difficult family situation remained in Quinn’s mind long after he left, leaving Santana and Quinn alone in the studio. Was there a possibility that it wasn’t Sam? What if what he was saying was true – the killer was directing all the suspicion towards him, just a convenient scapegoat? Sam had explained why he acted the way he did, but that didn’t explain why he had such a calm reaction to moving dead bodies. Now come to think of it, Mike didn’t really have a strong reaction to moving dead bodies either. Maybe there was more to Mike than the kind, mild-tempered man he is? What if he killed Brittany? Quinn couldn’t think of a reason why he would do that though. Mike and Brittany were really close, Brittany trusted Mike with everything she had, but now come to think of it, Brittany trusted everyone, even Sam. Thinking about who could be the killer hurt Quinn’s head. She didn’t have enough information to be sure it was anyone. It was highly likely that it was Sam, but Quinn wasn’t sure.

Then a horrible thought popped up into her head.

What if it was Santana?

If it really was Santana, why would she have such a strong reaction to Brittany’s death? Plus, she was asleep when Brittany got taken. Quinn didn’t think that Santana would kill Brittany. She loved her too much for it. However, was that why Brittany was killed in the least vicious way out of all the other deaths, apart from Finn’s maybe? Maybe Santana had intended to kill everyone, so she got Brittany out of the way first so that suspicion would be directed from her. Was Santana acting suspiciously in any way? She was very adamant that the killer was Sam from the beginning, that’s for sure. She has a strong reaction to dead bodies: she tends to not look at them. No, Quinn didn’t think that it was Santana. Although, in these times, she had to keep her eyes open to all possibilities.

Should she trust Santana? Should she trust Mike? She didn’t trust Sam before, but after what he said in the studio, she was rethinking everything.

Eventually, she decided that Santana could be trusted. She would never bring it upon herself to kill Brittany. If Quinn stuck with Santana at all times, she should be fine.

Except Brittany stuck with the Trinity at all times, yet the killer still got her.

It was a scary thought. Dying. Quinn had always been so scared of dying. By now, Quinn had accepted her fate. She wasn’t going to get out of here. The only chance of survival for her was that either the killer decided to not kill anymore, or they managed to kill the killer and escape. Except escape was impossible. She along with Santana and Brittany have spent endless hours looking through the house for keys to the front gate, looking through the bushes for any holes that they could escape through.

Quinn shuddered a little bit. Who was going to go down tonight? Was she going to be next?

Quinn tried her best to be rational and analyse the situation. If the killer was Sam, who would he go for? He just killed Brittany. He probably wouldn’t kill Mike just yet as Mike would probably see it coming and judging by Sam’s rather injured state the odds were probably not in Sam’s favour. He would probably be going for either Santana or her. He probably wouldn’t go for Santana either, because even though he doesn’t show it explicitly, he hates her and would probably want to make her suffer more. The only way he could make her suffer more would be either to manipulate her into thinking that Brittany’s death was on her hands or to keep her alive for a little longer, as she is already suffering living without Brittany. If he took out Quinn tonight then Santana would be absolutely broken, and Sam would relish it.

Quinn shivered. So if it was Sam, and it most likely was, she was dying tonight.

No, Quinn scolded herself, stay positive. Stay positive.

What if it was Mike? Mike would not kill Sam as the suspicion could keep being directed towards him. So as long as there were people alive, Sam would also be alive and Mike would kill him last. Would he kill Santana? He might. He really likes Brittany, so he would probably honour that by reuniting her with Santana in the afterlife, if there even was one. However, the killer seemed like the sort of person who would take pleasure in other people’s suffering. He probably wouldn’t end Santana’s suffering just yet. That meant, that Mike was going to go for Quinn tonight, with the same philosophy as Sam going for Quinn. Remove the other best friend and make Santana suffer even more.

Desperately, Quinn tried to grapple onto the only other possibility, hoping that she had a chance of seeing the sun rise tomorrow. What if it was Santana? It was really unlikely; Quinn had already established that. But if it was, who would she kill now? She wouldn’t kill Sam, as he is the main suspect. Would she kill Mike? Mike would probably overpower her as he is quite strong. He would also probably find some kind of makeshift weapon and considering Santana’s broken state Mike would probably win. So Santana would go for… Quinn.

Quinn tried really hard not to panic. She tried really hard not to hyperventilate. Whoever the killer was, she was dying tonight.

Who could save her? Santana was in no shape to save her. Sam was injured, he wouldn’t save her either. Mike was her only hope. She should probably try and befriend him, or just talk to him. Explain her predicament, and hope that Mike would help her. She needed him desperately, or she would die.

Quinn really didn’t want to die. Her heart was beating so fast at the thought and some bad feeling settled into her stomach. She wanted to throw up. She really didn’t want to live what was likely her final hours in fear. But she couldn’t help it. She was beyond terrified.

Santana next to her seemed to sense her distress. “What’s on your mind, Q?” she asked.

Quinn turned a fearful gaze to the brunette next to her. “I need to talk to Mike.”

Santana frowned a bit. “Why?”

“Please, Santana. I need to talk to him.” Quinn pled.

“Okay then,” Santana said, too tired to push or try and convince Quinn otherwise. “Let’s go talk to Mike.”

***

It didn’t take the girls too long to find Mike. They first looked downstairs but didn’t find Mike anywhere, so they decided to look upstairs in the rooms. Quinn was worried that Mike was outside looking through the bushes or something. If that was the case then finding him would’ve taken a very long time as this property was very big. However, Santana told her that Mike wouldn’t be hard to find as all of them had already looked in the bushes and found nothing, so if Mike was outside he would be in the open. They decided to look upstairs first anyway.

They didn’t know which room Mike resided in after the death of his group, so they knocked on every closed door they came across. If there was no answer they would go inside and see if Mike was in there, maybe looking in drawers. Some of the rooms had not been inhabited for a while. Quinn could still see the dried blood on the floor and on the wall in Rachel’s room. There were also some black things on the floor, that Quinn desperately hoped were not her intestines. Seeing Rachel’s room again made another wave of fear spike into her system. Was she going to die like Rachel? Have her throat ripped out and her entire body cut open? Quinn tried to get those images out of her head. She did not need any more fear in her system right now.

Mike was in the room that he had stayed with Tina, it turned out. It was the same one where Mercedes had slept in for a short while when she joined the Asian couple as a trio. Quinn could see a dent in the wall behind the door. She assumed that it was from the knife. The thought of a knife made her shudder again. No! Do not think of the knife!

When the girls opened the door, Mike sat up and looked at them. Quinn didn’t know what he was doing, he was just lying down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey Quinn, hey Santana,” he mustered a small smile. “What are you doing here?”

Santana looked at Quinn. “This is all you.” With that, she took a step back, clearly a signal that it was not her idea to come here, it was all Quinn’s idea, so Quinn would be doing all the talking. Quinn didn’t blame her. Santana probably didn’t trust Mike, and it _was_ Quinn’s idea, so it was fair enough that Quinn did all the talking.

“Um, I need your help,” Quinn mumbled.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” he started slowly. “Um, what with?”

“Can you protect me?” Quinn asked meekly. “It’s just, um, I think that I’m going to be targeted tonight. So I may need some extra protection.”

“Huh?” Mike said. “Why do you think that you’ll be targeted tonight?”

“Well,” Quinn stuttered. She didn’t really want to go over the analysis that she did a little earlier again with Mike. The thought of it was morbid, it made her want to puke, it made her insides squirm in fear. “I don’t really want to go over it again,” she said. “But, um, I think that the killer will go for me today. Do you mind protecting me so that, um, I don’t die?” she finished, her voice trailing off into a whisper.

Mike thought for a short moment. “Okay, sure. How would you like me to help?”

“Look Mike, I can trust you right?” Quinn said.

“Of course,” Mike furrowed his brows a little bit.

“Well, um, I would like you to sleep close to us today,” Quinn started. “Not in our room, um, there isn’t another bed for you. You can sleep in the room next to us? And uh, here, you can have the key to our room,” she handed Mike the pair of keys.

Santana surged forward. “Quinn, what are you doing?”

“Trust me, please, Santana,” Quinn begged. Santana looked reluctant, but she backed off anyway. Quinn feared it was because Santana didn’t care anymore. She didn’t voice her fears, however. She turned back to Mike. “Tonight, when the killer comes for me, do you mind coming to my rescue? You’re the strongest out of us, I think that you can take them on,” Quinn brushed her hair with her hands nervously. “If you need to, you can use the key to enter our room. I’ll try my best to scream or something so that you know.” The real reason that she gave Mike the key was because of the off-chance that the killer was Santana. Santana was going to sleep with her tonight, so if Santana was going to attack her, she would fight her off for a short while, whilst screaming for Mike, and he would be able to use the key to come to her rescue.

Another thought popped up into Quinn’s head. She didn’t know if it was good or bad, but Mike had a knife. It was the one that his group had taken from Quinn a few days ago. It could be good as Mike had a weapon to attack the murderer with, or it could be bad as Quinn just gave herself a death sentence.

Mike can be trusted. Mike can be trusted.

“Okay,” Mike simply answered. He gripped onto the key tightly. “You’ll be fine tonight, Q. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you so much Mike,” Quinn walked forward a little and engulfed the Asian boy in a hug. “I knew I could trust you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mike replied. “I’ll keep you safe, Q. You too, Santana. I’ll get us out of here. I promise.”

Quinn gave him a grateful smile. “Well, that’s it from me,” she whispered. She squeezed him one last time before letting go. She put an arm around Santana’s shoulders and led her out of the room.

Quinn could swear she saw a figure lurking in the shadows, but she knew for a fact that it wasn’t real.

***

“I’m really tired,” Santana sighed. “Let’s just go to bed now.”

“But San, it’s only nine,” Quinn noted. “It’s still really early.”

“I don’t care,” Santana replied. “Sleeping is the best part of my day now. I can forget everything, lose myself to my dreams, if only for a short while. Sometimes I just want to sleep and never wake up. Being awake is too painful.”

“What did I say about saying things like this?” Quinn asked angrily.

“Whatever,” Santana mumbled. “Should we even bother sleeping in shifts anymore? It obviously doesn’t work.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Quinn sighed. “Do you have any ideas that would help us survive the night?” Internally Quinn meant ‘help me survive the night’, but she didn’t say that aloud.

“At this point, I don’t care,” Santana simply stated. “Let them come. You can only delay the inevitable.”

“Please stop saying things like this!” Quinn pled. “I don’t want to die! I actually want to live! Please help me think of ways that will help us survive the night?”

“Well, if you lock the door, it will just get picked. If we sleep in shifts, the person awake gets killed. I guess the only way we can prevent is to barricade the door heavily.”

Quinn’s mind raced at what would happen if they did that. If they barricaded the door, Mike would not be able to get in and save her, if Santana was the killer. She would be completely at Santana’s mercy, and she was not okay with that.

“No, that’s not a solution,” Quinn shook her head.

“Well, that’s all I got,” Santana shrugged. “I’m going to sleep now.” With that, she trudged off towards the bed and slipped in.

Quinn contemplated what to do. She thought for a few minutes before seeing Santana underneath the covers in their bed. Tears were silently streaming down her face, and that just made Quinn’s heart hurt again. She eventually decided to just lock the door and forget her fears.

She slipped into the bed next to Santana. Santana scooted over and buried her head into Quinn’s chest.

“I just want my Britt-Britt back,” she sobbed. Quinn could already feel the wetness in her shirt.

“I know,” she whispered back. “Santana, just know this, you have been a great friend to me. We may have had our differences and we may have hated each other sometimes, but I still love you.”

“And you say you aren’t gay,” Santana smirked through her tears. It warmed Quinn’s heart to see that upwards curl of Santana’s lips for the first time that day, however brief it was, even if it was at her expense.

“I love you like a little sister,” Quinn clarified.

“I’m not little,” Santana frowned. “You’re like a centimetre taller than me.”

“Still littler than me,” Quinn teased. “Sleep tight, Santana.”

“Sleep tight, Quinn. And also, I love you too. You’re my best friend.”

Quinn gave a small smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Quinn kept stroking Santana’s hair as silent tears continued to stain her shirt. Eventually, the brunette’s breathing slowed. The fear started to settle in Quinn’s stomach again. Tears started to fall out of Quinn’s eyes, but she wiped them away instantly with her sleeves. She took some deep breaths, calming herself down, telling herself that she would survive the night. Eventually, she couldn’t help but fall into the endless abyss of sleep.

~

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Rhythm. I thrive on rhythm. Rhythm is my life.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Get yourself together, you fool!

Breathe.

Breathe.

Ugh, I really don’t want to do this.

You fucking idiot! Do it!

No!

You have to!

Okay, okay! Don’t scream at me. I’ll do it, okay? I’ll do it!

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

It’s that time of day again. Or… should I say, night.

My teeth chatter. It’s really cold.

Breathe, you fool, breathe!

Get yourself together and get this over and done with!

I slap myself to my senses. Let’s do this.

But I don’t want to!

Shut the fuck up! Just do it!

Okay okay! I’ll do it!

Give me a second.

Apologies, for my indiscretions. Let’s get this going.

You may be wondering who I am targeting today. Honestly? Targeting isn’t that hard. Not when you know the person you are targeting back to front.

Quinn, it is time to say goodbye.

I know that you know that this is coming to you sooner or later. I just want to end your suffering. No more living in fear. It’s time for you to go.

I know you are really scared of death. It’s okay. I can use that to my advantage.

I know it is unethical, but I have to do what I came here to do. Everything that can help me, I will take advantage of.

Quinn is sleeping right now. They’re not even doing shifts anymore. I guess they finally realised that shifts don’t work. After what happened to my, um, previous victims, it is pretty evident that sleeping in shifts is not going to save you.

Nothing is. I will always find a way.

Because I am smart.

My teeth chatter again.

I get out the key to Quinn’s room from my pocket. I don’t even need to pick the lock! How nice.

Now, there is the possibility that Quinn has barricaded the door so that I can’t get in, but I doubt that’s the case.

It’s not. It only took the key to unlock the door and I’m in. Ah, home sweet home.

It is a good thing that Quinn is a deep sleeper. Did you know that people sleep in 90-minute cycles? Quinn went to bed at nine. Say she fell asleep at nine-thirty. If I have timed this correctly, she should be in the deep sleep phase. It is about forty minutes into her cycle. Right now it is… ten past one.

Let’s do this. Hopefully, she doesn’t wake up.

If she does, then, um… disaster. It’s okay. I know Quinn. She won’t wake up.

I lift her out of her bed and carry her in my arms. She shows no sign of waking. Good. My timing was correct.

She’s a little heavy and I struggle a bit, but I’m doing great right now. I take her all the way downstairs and set her down on the floor in the lounge. She’s still asleep. Perfect.

I make my way back upstairs and close the door to Quinn’s room. I use the key to lock it.

Mask on.

I take out the knife hidden in my calf. I don’t intend on using it, because I know how much Quinn wishes to not be cut, but I will use it to threaten her. Keep her quiet. If she doesn’t I will just thrust it into her throat and be done with it already.

Please cooperate. I am begging you. I don’t want to make you bleed.

I make my way back into the lounge. Oh god, I look so cliché. The mask, the knife in my hand. Quinn is still sleeping. That’s okay. I have time.

I close the door to the lounge behind me and push a sofa to block the door. Yep, she’s not getting out now.

It does take a little while, but eventually, Quinn realises that she is no longer in the comfortable bed and instead on the hard floor, so she is starting to stir. She groans a little before her eyes open. Now the light isn’t on, so she doesn’t suspect anything. Yet.

I reach out with my hand and switch on the light. Quinn’s confused eyes squint at the light suddenly switching on, but they suddenly widen when she realises that she was not in her room. She turns her head rapidly to try and gather where she is, and when she catches sight of me, her eyes widen even more and immense fear can be observed in her beautiful hazel-green eyes.

Oh come on, I look scary. I don’t normally, but with a mask and a knife? Serial killer.

She squeals in fright and opens her mouth. I am afraid that she will scream her lungs out, so I use her fear of knives to my advantage.

“If you scream,” I hiss, holding up the knife higher menacingly. “I will cut you. Understand?” Quinn nods frantically, tears streaming out of her eyes. “Good,” I say, lowering the knife slightly.

“Please,” she blubbers, “Don’t hurt me.” Quinn seems to shrink back into herself, backing away from me until she hit the wall.

I advance slowly. I must look really scary, because Quinn curls into herself, whimpering and sobbing at the same time. Oh, God. Bless her heart. She must be really scared. It hurts my heart a little bit. I crouch down next to her.

“Please,” she whispers, eyes focused on the knife in my hand. “No, please! I beg you!” she sobs, starting to get a little hysterical now. Looking at her in this state jolts me momentarily. This is the same person as the assertive, head bitch in charge Quinn we get in school. Over here, we have a petrified girl who is begging me not to cut her.

I wasn’t going to anyway. I set the knife down, but it is still out of her reach. I need to make sure that her hysteria is not a façade and she would not grab the knife and stab me in the chest.

She lets out a deep sigh of relief when she sees me set down my knife.

An idea pops up in my head.

“Who do you think I am?” I ask her. It would be quite interesting to know, actually. May help me in my future conquests. I don’t know if she could recognise me through my voice, though. I am guessing that she can’t because when you are panicking your brain works a little weirdly.

“I d-don’t know,” Quinn whimpers.

I sigh. This is the moment.

I rip off my mask.

Quinn’s expression is something quite amazing.

Confusion. Shock. Bewilderment. Surprise. Anger. Betrayal.

“W-Wha–” she stutters. “H-how… w-why…”

I give a small laugh and smile softly at her. “I will honour your wishes, Quinn. I won’t cut you.”

Quinn’s jaw was still slack with shock. “I d-don’t understand. W-why would you –”

“No questions, Quinn, or I retract my promise,” I say threateningly and lift the knife, edging it slightly closer to her.

Quinn squealed again. “No, please don’t…” she gasps. “I promise… no questions…”

Oh, that poor girl. She is starting to hyperventilate.

She saw her end coming before she even went to bed. She is a smart girl. She probably should’ve prepared for this, though, so that she wouldn’t be so scared when she dies.

“Okay,” I say. I take a deep breath. “I’m really sorry Quinn.”

“Wha–” she starts, but she never got the chance to finish. I surge forward, without the knife if you must know, and wrap both of my hands around her throat, pushing her forward so that I am pinning her to the ground.

“Ugh,” she splutters. “No! Please! I don’t want to die! Ugh,” her words were a little incoherent, because I was cutting off her air supply and I know choking hurts a lot, so it was obviously difficult for her to speak.

“Ah!” she squeals, batting her hands towards my face, in a vain attempt to hurt me and get me to release my hold around her throat. However, her blows don’t hurt and I keep choking her.

Tears were coming out of her eyes.

“I’m scared…” she gasps out. “I t-thought that it didn’t hurt…”

That jolts me for a split second. My grip on her throat loosens, and she was able to regain one precious breath. I shake my head and tighten my grip on her again.

She groans and clenches her eyes closed, squeezing even more tears out of her eyes. By now, she had given up trying to hurt me, so she’s futilely trying to pry my hands away from her throat.

Her body is moving so much. It’s like riding a wild bull. It’s constantly trying to shake you off.

I persist. I slam her head on the floor a few times so that she loses energy. Eventually, her grip on my hands loosens, and her writhing slows, eventually coming to a halt.

Her eyes flutter a few times before they remain closed. She becomes limp.

Ah, so that’s what it looks like when the light fades out of someone’s eyes. It is truly a beautiful thing. It only took so many kills to finally see it.

I let go of her and she remains sprawled on the floor, blonde hair tousled everywhere.

Wait.

I just killed a great friend. When she has repeatedly said that she didn’t want to die, she wants to live, she is scared of dying.

What have I become?

Why is this monster inside of me so strong?

I feel drained. Physically. Emotionally.

I sit next to her body for a while. I bury my head in my hands and start to sob uncontrollably.

I can’t control myself.


	11. Day 10

“Ugh, yes Sanny, there, yes!” Brittany’s cries echoed in the confines of Santana’s room.

“You like that, baby?” Santana husked, which elicited an eager nod from Brittany.

“Ah!” Brittany threw her head back into the pillow as Santana dug her fingers into where Brittany needed it the most. “Ah, San, I can’t, ugh!”

Santana latched her lips onto Brittany’s neck and began sucking onto her pulse point. Her left hand was still working its magic between Brittany’s legs, and her right hand was now massaging Brittany’s breasts. Brittany’s already erratic breaths got even more irregular, and soon Brittany was writhing underneath Santana, occasionally letting out expletives in pleasure.

“Sanny, I’m going to – I’m going to, aah!” Brittany screamed as Santana curled her fingers inside Brittany. Her eyes opened again, becoming slightly unfocused for a brief while, whole body trembling underneath Santana, before becoming completely limp and spent.

Brittany sighed contently, eyes hooded. “I love you so much, Sanny.”

Santana planted one last sweet kiss onto Brittany’s lips. “I love you too, Britt.”

“That was amazing,” she gasped still regaining her breath.

“It was,” Santana agreed. She studied Brittany’s face, which was giving a nice post-coital glow. “You’re so beautiful,” Santana cooed, stroking the contours of Brittany’s face, making Brittany blush and smile bashfully. Brittany laid there for another minute or so, before her innocent smile shifted into a devilish smirk.

“It’s time for me to return the favour,” she grinned. With incredible strength from someone who was supposedly exhausted, she flipped the two of them so that Santana was now pinned under Brittany.

“Brittany Pierce, are you trying to top me?” Santana teased.

Brittany continued to smile seductively. “You know that you are a bottom, Santana.” Brittany’s fingers started to trail lower, between the valley of the brunette’s breasts, down to her stomach, eventually hovering over the sensitive bundle of nerves between Santana’s legs that were now throbbing in anticipation.

“I’m going to make you come so hard,” Brittany whispered into Santana’s ear.

“Please,” Santana gasped.

Brittany’s mischievous eyes were the last thing that Santana saw before everything went black.

Santana groaned as her eyes began to open. She stretched a little as her arms were aching. She breathed out in contentment when her sore muscles no longer became sore. She rubbed her eyes and as she did that she realised that her panties were completely soaked. That dream had been so… real. So vivid. Waking up without Brittany by her side just reminded Santana of everything that happened yesterday.

Just thinking about the bubbly blonde made tears come out of Santana’s eyes again. Honestly, she was so exhausted that she no longer had any energy to cry. She just laid there, silent tears streaming down her eyes, too spent to try and wipe them away. She closed her eyes again and hugged a pillow next to her close to her chest. In her mind, she was hugging Brittany. She could smell her sweet scent already. She leaned her head in so that it touched the pillow in her chest. She breathed in deeply. Imagine her scent, Santana, imagine her scent.

Wait a second.

Why was Quinn not next to her? She thought that Quinn slept with her for the night but judging by the pillow that Santana was hugging right now which was Quinn’s, Quinn was not in the bed.

Suddenly alert and fully awake, Santana sat up in her bed. Her head looked frantically around the room for any signs of the short-haired blonde. She wasn’t in the bed, she wasn’t anywhere in the room. Was she dragged out like Brittany? Santana slipped out of bed and walked towards the door. It was still locked. Santana tutted in confusion. Quinn was not in this room, and the door was locked. Was she outside? Did the killer get her? If so, why was the door locked? Only Quinn and herself had the key.

Then she remembered what Quinn did yesterday. Her blood ran cold.

No. It can’t be. Quinn gave the key to Mike. Did Mike use the key to grab Quinn, and lock the door behind him? Quinn trusted him with her life. No. Did her plan backfire?

Santana scrambled to the bedside table and dug around the items on it for the key to the room with trembling fingers. Within a few seconds, she found the key and she rushed towards the door. It took her a little longer than she should to unlock the door, as her hands were shaking so much in fear. Eventually, the door clicked open and she stumbled through and into the corridor. Where could Quinn be?

Santana whipped her head around. She sprinted through the corridor, looking in every room that she passed. Quinn wasn’t in any of them. She then looked in the bathroom. Quinn wasn’t there either. Santana racked her head. If Quinn wasn’t upstairs, then was she… downstairs?

How did the killer even manage to get her downstairs? Why did they even bother? If the killer had intended to kill Quinn they would’ve just got it over and done with in a room upstairs.

Maybe the killer didn’t get Quinn. The thought makes Santana relax a little bit.

Why would Quinn be outside of their room, alone then? Santana thought for a few seconds before a possibility popped up in her head. Quinn is addicted to food. Maybe she just went into the kitchen for some breakfast. She locked the door behind her because she didn’t want to put Santana in danger. Yeah, that made perfect sense.

Santana sighed in relief.

Well, in that case, she better go downstairs and probably get breakfast with Quinn, or just keep her company. Being alone in a house like this was not the best idea anyway, especially for someone who is determined to get out of here alive, like Quinn.

Santana made her way downstairs, the sound of her steps echoing with every stair she descended. It was actually quite tranquil. She could get used to this.

As she walked past the lounge, however, she saw something out the corner of her eye.

She looked at it a little closer. It was a body. She didn’t know who it was yet, as her vision was a little blurry since her eyes were so swollen. The body was facing from her, and through the blurry haze of her vision, she saw a bit of blonde hair. Was it Sam?

Santana’s heart rate increased. If it was Sam, she didn’t know if it was a good thing or not. If he was the killer, and she thought that he was, then that would be excellent news as either Mike or Quinn had finally got the killer and no more of them had to die. She was just sad that they were a day too late though. If they managed to get Sam the day before, Brittany would be standing next to her right now. Her vision would not be blurry with tears. She would have someone to hold onto at night.

However, what if Sam wasn’t the killer? That would be pretty bad news. They just killed Sam, the scapegoat for all the murders. That meant that the killer was stepping up their game. They don’t mind being caught now, as no one was going to make it out of here alive.

But what if it wasn’t Sam altogether? The only other blonde alive was… Quinn.

No.

Quinn can’t – Santana cannot bear to lose another one. Quinn can’t be dead. She can’t be.

Santana rushed forward into the lounge and crouched next to the body. With every step, it was looking more and more like Quinn. Her petite frame, the shoulder-length blonde hair. With trembling hands, Santana flipped the body to reveal the victim’s face.

Santana would’ve screamed that instant when she saw who it was, except her throat still hurt from all the screaming she did yesterday and was physically incapable of screaming.

Quinn was pale as a sheet, some strands of messy blonde hair covering her porcelain face. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were dry and a weird shade of pink. All over her throat, god, Santana could not bear to look at it. It was a mixture of purple and blue and black. There were vague handprints there as well.

Santana started to sob for the umpteenth time the past few days. The angry ligature marks started to blur as her eyes clouded with tears. She couldn’t lose Quinn too. Not after she just lost Brittany. She was now all alone. She had no one to talk to, no shoulder to cry on. What on earth was she going to do now?

“Q-Quinn…” Santana choked, pulling at the blonde’s shoulders and setting her head on her lap. “N-No… why?” She brushed a few tendrils of hair from Quinn’s face and set it behind her ears. She looked… so peaceful. If it wasn’t for the deep lines scarring across the blonde’s throat she could have passed for someone who was simply sleeping.

Santana turned her head to look at the ceiling. “Why would you do this?” she cried. She didn’t care who listened. She didn’t even know who she was addressing. She just needed to get it out. Let it all out. “Why would you kill Brittany? Why would you kill Quinn? Why would you kill anyone at all? Why?” Her throat started to burn again, so she couldn’t voice her anger anymore towards the skies.

Santana looked back down at Quinn’s form. A tear dropped down from her eyes and onto Quinn’s cheek. Santana wiped it away with her thumb. Quinn was most likely strangled, if the bruises on her neck were any indication. Strangling hurts like a bitch, so Quinn’s death most likely was very painful. Strangling also wasn’t a fast process. It probably took Quinn minutes to pass out, her final minutes of pure agony. Why would anyone do this to such a sweet girl? A girl with a bacon addiction, a girl who had big dreams, a girl who did nothing but be Santana’s rock, support her and Brittany all the way? Why kill her so brutally? Quinn was so scared that her death would hurt. It turned out that her deepest fears turned into reality, didn’t it?

Santana wondered what Quinn was doing right now. Was she watching Santana from above, with Brittany? Or was she just in an endless, empty void? Another tear fell onto Quinn’s face. Santana wiped it away with her thumb. How did Quinn react when she found out that she was going to die? Oh god, she must have been so scared. So petrified. Why didn’t she just scream for help? Why do none of the victims call for help? Why does everyone just die silently, at the hands of the heartless killer?

These questions were making Santana’s head hurt. Quinn probably didn’t call for help because of her fear of getting cut by the knife, as it would obviously be painful, and Quinn had a huge fear of pain. The killer probably threatened her with a knife. Why else would she not scream for help, and either her or Mike would come and save her?

Mike.

Could it be Mike? It was very possible. What was Quinn thinking, giving Mike the key to her room? She just gave herself a death sentence! Mike was the very person Quinn trusted. He had the perfect opportunity to get Quinn. Santana didn’t think that it was Sam anymore. She hurt Sam really badly. She doubted that Sam had the physical strength to strangle Quinn, as his left hand and arm were really messed up.

Santana broke away from her train of thought and looked down at the girl in front of her. Yes, she didn’t love her like Brittany, but she still loved Quinn so much. They had known each other for about a decade, and most of the time remained the best of friends. She lifted Quinn’s head from her lap a little, stroking more blonde hair at the back of her head.

“Y-you promised that you wouldn’t leave me,” Santana whispered. “Y-you gave me hope that we were going to get out of here alive. Now, without you, how am I supposed to believe that?” Santana let out another choked sob, tears falling down faster. She gingerly set Quinn’s head back on her lap, and that’s when she realised that there was blood on her hands.

Wait, did Quinn get cut?

She lifted Quinn’s head up again and that’s when she saw that the back of Quinn’s head was cracked. The killer probably threw her head on the floor when she tried to resist.

Why are you so cruel, killer? Strangling her was bad enough, you had to crack her head open too?

Santana didn’t know what to do. Her hands went lower on Quinn’s body, to her waist. With some effort, she hoisted the blonde up and hugged her close. Quinn felt really heavy on Santana, but the brunette didn’t care. She hugged her tight, tears landing on her shoulder, while Quinn’s motionless body just laid limply across Santana’s front, her chest, her shoulders.

Santana wasn’t really sure how much time passed, her just holding onto Quinn and weeping. She didn’t really care either. Time had no value. It wasn’t like Santana was going to do anything now anyway. She had no one to talk to. What was the point of living on? Santana could not care less about anything anymore. Her time was limited. She’d rather just die now and then she could see Brittany and Quinn again.

She wouldn’t commit suicide, though. Brittany would not be proud of her. Quinn made sure that Santana knew that.

It is just that, when she finally dies at the hands of the killer, she will have a content smile on her face. Even if she got tortured. She would pass out eventually, into the abyss of death, where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt anymore. She would finally be able to let go. She would see her favourite girls again.

Santana didn’t know how much more time had passed, just her holding onto Quinn, when Sam came into the room.

“Um, Santana, are you alright?” Sam asked quietly.

Santana turned her teary gaze onto Sam. “What do you think?”

“I would guess… no,” Sam sighed. “Need someone to talk to?” Sam asked.

Santana merely shrugged. Sam took that as a yes and sat down on the floor about a metre away from Santana. Sam made sure to avoid the bloodstains that were still on the floor, most likely Puck’s. He didn’t really know who those bloodstains belonged to anymore. Too many people have died in this house, in too harsh ways, and he had long forgotten who died how and when. He no longer cared anymore. It was a matter of sooner or later.

“I’m really sorry Santana,” Sam mumbled.

“For what?” Santana replied tiredly. Quinn was starting to make Santana’s shoulders sore, so she set the blonde down on the floor gingerly.

“For, um, you know, Quinn,” he said, gesturing to the girl on the floor. “I know how much she meant to you.”

“Yeah,” Santana simply said. She didn’t really want to say anything more. Her throat hurt.

“Um, do you still think it’s me?” Sam asked hesitantly. “Who killed everyone?” he elaborated.

Santana met Sam’s eyes with a dull, tired look. “Honestly, I don’t know anymore. I don’t really care anymore either. My time is nearly up anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, um, just for the record, it wasn’t me,” Sam said. “I can’t, um, strangle her with the state of my left arm,” he gestured to his left arm, which was still hanging limply on the side.

“Yeah, about that, look Sam, I’m really sorry,” Santana mumbled. “I shouldn’t have exploded on you like that.”

“No, it’s okay, you just found that Brittany died, and you thought it was me. What you did made perfect sense.” Sam replied.

“I just feel a bit bad,” Santana sighed. “Do you think that Mike killed Quinn then?”

Sam thought for a moment. “I don’t know, actually. I don’t think that Mike is the sort of person who would things like this, but who else can it be? It’s not me and it’s not you, so it must be Mike.”

“I think it’s Mike,” Santana said quietly. “Quinn gave him the key to our room yesterday.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Why on earth would she do that?”

“Quinn didn’t say,” Santana replied. “Although my best guess is that she was hoping that Mike would save her because she knew that she was being targeted that night. I don’t actually know how she knew she was being targeted, but she trusted Mike. She gave Mike the key because she thought that if it was me, then she would be able to hold me off while screaming for Mike and he would use the key to come into our room and save her,” Santana let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand. It hurts to know that your best friend doesn’t trust you completely.”

“I guess,” Sam said contemplatively, “So are you saying that Quinn trusted the wrong person?”

“Yeah,” Santana mumbled. “I wonder if she hadn’t given the key to Mike, would she be sitting next to me right now? Or would the killer get her anyway? They have never failed before.”

“Well,” Sam drawled. “Quinn is kind of sitting next to you right now,” he pointed to the girl next to Santana.

Santana let out a mirthless laugh. “Funny,” she rolled her eyes. “Alive I meant.”

“I know,” Sam sighed. “Just trying to make light of this situation. Bad joke, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” Santana scoffed.

Santana and Sam sat in silence for a while, with Quinn also keeping Santana company, even if she was just lying motionless by Santana’s side.

“What was the last thing that Quinn did before she died?” Sam suddenly asked.

“Um, well the last thing she said to me before I fell asleep was how much she loved me, as a friend,” Santana replied.

“Interesting,” Sam mumbled. At that moment, Mike walked into the room.

“Who’s died this time?” he sighed. It seemed like at this point, he has accepted the fact that the killer was going to get someone every night. He knew that it was impossible to stop the inevitable.

Santana whipped her head around and stared at him harshly. “Well, Sam and I are alive right now, who do you think died then? Huh? I thought you were meant to be smart.”

“Alright, tiger,” Mike held up his hands. “Just trying to make conversation.”

“Yeah, well, you are doing a shit job,” Santana growled. “You promised to protect her. You promised!”

“How was I meant to know? She didn’t scream. Was I supposed to be on corridor watch the whole night, and take the killer on myself?” Mike asked incredulously. “You were next to her, Santana! I would assume you two slept in the same bed! How the hell did Quinn get abducted and you didn’t even know about it? Impossible!”

“Oh, shut up Mike, you know there are ways,” Santana snarled. “The killer got us when we were both asleep. They probably drugged me in my sleep so that I wouldn’t wake up until much later! As for Quinn, they probably covered her mouth so that she wouldn’t scream! There were many ways!”

“You still could’ve protected her,” Mike narrowed his eyes. “Why was your room so easy to break into then? Why could the killer get to you so easily?”

“Because Quinn thought that you could save her!” Santana shot back hotly. “I suggested that we barricaded the door. She refused because she thought that it was me! If it was me then you would be her knight in shining armour!”

“Now you mention it,” Mike’s eyes glowed dangerously. “It _could_ be you, Santana. You were next to her. You could’ve easily gotten her, because she clung onto you the whole night! You killed her in her sleep!”

“Fuck you, Mike. Do you honestly think it could be me? You think _I_ killed Brittany? I loved her! No, I _love_ her! I would never hurt her, let alone kill her!”

“And you think it’s me?” Mike shot back angrily. “You think that I would kill Tina? I loved her too! You think that I’m even capable of murder?”

Both eyes suddenly turned to Sam.

Sam felt self-conscious as all pairs of eyes were on him. “Um, yes?” he gulped.

“It could also be you, Sam,” Mike said. “You had nothing to lose. You don’t have a girlfriend. You loved Brittany. So you killed her thinking, if I can’t have her, no one can right? Then you killed Quinn to spite Santana, because you hate her!”

“What the fuck?” Sam nearly shouted. “Look at my freaking arm. Santana probably broke it! You think that my arms have the physical strength of _strangling_ a person? A person who was determined to live, and would probably try her best to fight me back? It can’t possibly be me!”

“Just shut up about your arm,” Mike said. He stalked over and gripped onto Sam’s arm harshly. Sam winced a bit. “See, you didn’t even scream out in pain or anything. It clearly doesn’t hurt as much as you let on. Of course you can strangle a person with that. Heck, you can probably strangle Quinn with only your right hand. You’re strong enough, right? Quinn is a petite girl. Quinn isn’t very strong herself. You could’ve easily overpowered her.”

“Why is everyone shifting the blame onto me?” Sam cried exasperatedly. “You know what? Fuck you guys. I’m not the killer. One of you, just kill me tonight and I can get life done with. I know it’s one of you.” With that, he got up to his feet and stormed out of the room.

Mike and Santana sat in silence in the lounge for a few minutes. Quinn was still immobilised on the floor.

“Do you, um, want me to take her away?” Mike asked tentatively, gesturing to the blonde next to Santana.

Santana shook her head. “No. I’ll do it myself. You already took Britt from me. You are not taking Quinn too. I just want to spend a bit more time with her, say goodbye you know? I didn’t get the chance to do that with Britt.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah, I respect your wishes. I’ll be off now then.” He waved his hand weakly as a gesture of parting before getting up and leaving the room.

Santana slipped her arms around Quinn’s waist and lifted her up again, where the blonde rested on her aching shoulders.

“Oh, what do I do now?” Santana started to weep again. “What do I do now, Q?”

***

Santana wasn’t really in the mood to do anything. But since she had a lot of time on her hands, she decided to revert back to one of her old habits: if you’re bored, eat.

Santana doubted that she would be able to get any food in her stomach. She had been the first one to witness the dead bodies of her two best friends, the people who she had nearly spent her whole life with, people who have been by her side at all times since she could remember. She could hardly believe that they were dead. She always thought that denial was a stupid thing when someone deals with their grief, as her abuela’s initial reaction to her abuelo’s death was denial. Now she understood why people first go into denial when they lose a loved one. Deep inside, Santana still hoped that Brittany and Quinn were still alive. Brittany could still be alive, actually. A tiny sliver of hope sparked in Santana’s chest. Did Brittany have a pulse? She wasn’t breathing, and her skin was really cold, but she could’ve just been unconscious? No. If Brittany was alive, then she would’ve made her way back into the house when she woke up. Even if she wasn’t dead then, she would most definitely be dead now. Fuck! Why didn’t Santana try and save her? She could’ve been saved! How did she think that kissing Brittany was going to wake her up? This wasn’t a fairy tale!

As for Quinn, well, how on earth could she still be alive? She had held Quinn for longer than she should have today. She felt no breath on her shoulder, no rhythmic beating of the heart. Quinn’s skin was ice-cold, just like Brittany’s. Quinn’s neck probably snapped as well, with the sheer force exerted on it. The scary bruises on her throat told Santana that.

Were Brittany and Quinn cheering her on from heaven? They could see everything, right? They must know who the killer was.

Please, Brittany and Quinn, talk to me in my dreams or something, Santana pleaded. Tell me who it is, you want me to live my life right? If not, well, it would be nice to talk to you again. Just please, I need to talk to you guys again.

Another tear fell out of Santana’s eye. Santana wiped it away instantly. No more crying. No more crying. Crying is not going to bring them back. Deal with your grief another way, Santana, live your life for them.

Suddenly, Santana is starting to feel like there is hope in life again. There were still things out there for her. Her family. Her little brother. They all need her. She needs to live.

She will live.

Even if she lost the two most important people in her life.

Santana got out more bread from the pantry. There wasn’t really any food left in the pantry, wait actually there was, there was food in the fridge and the freezer. Except the refrigerator broke down and all the food had gone bad. Santana was not stupid enough to eat warm raw chicken.

She walked into the empty dining room and took a bite of the rock-hard bread in her hands. It hurt her teeth to chew it, but she persisted. Starving to death was a pathetic excuse for dying. Santana had by now established that she would not die in vain. She couldn’t just give up when things got hard. Things got hard with Brittany once, when Santana consistently refused to go public as she had fears of being outed and labelled as a lesbian. That was when things were the rockiest with Brittany. They nearly broke up, or rather Brittany nearly had enough of Santana and decided to move on. But Santana begged her to stay and decided to come out to her family and become a public couple. Her family, with the exception of her abuela, took her outing really well, so did her friends, who kind of already knew. Brittany was literally glowing with pride and happiness the next few days, as they swung their conjoined hands in the halls of school. It was probably the proudest Santana had felt in her whole life, the happiest.

Brittany taught her one thing. When things get hard, persist, persevere. It will all work out in the end. Her relationship with the bubbly blonde was the perfect proof of how Brittany was right. Brittany was always right.

She was going to live, for her family.

She was going to live, for Quinn.

She was going to live, for Brittany.

She was going to live, for herself.

She continued to munch on her bread. Adrenaline surged through her system.

Santana was going to get out of here. She would live for her loved ones.

With newfound determination, Santana chewed on her bread, much to the dismay of her teeth, eventually finishing it. That was when Mike walked into the room and sat opposite her. He looked excited.

“Santana,” he hissed, grinning. “I have some good news,”

“Go on, enlighten me,” Santana merely replied, uninterested.

“I have found a way for us to get out of here.”

That caught Santana’s attention. She raised an eyebrow and raised her head, making eye contact with the Asian boy. “Go on.”

“Well,” Mike’s eyes glinted a bit. “It’s a bit hard to explain. I just need your help, and I can get us both out of here.”

“What do you need help with?” Santana asked.

“It’s a job easier done with two people,” Mike said cryptically. “Hey, why don’t you meet me tonight at eleven at the front gate and I’ll get us both out of here.”

“Why tonight? Why can’t we just do it now?” Santana asked.

“Well, um, it’s broad daylight. I don’t exactly want to be seen when I’m doing it. So help me tonight? We will be out of here and we should be back in Lima by morning.”

“Look, as appealing as your ‘idea’ sounds, if you want my help, you have to tell me more,” Santana demanded. “You can’t just expect me to obediently turn up and meet you alone at night. I’m not that stupid.”

“Well, that’s the problem,” Mike rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t want to jinx anything. Anyone could hear us right now, and if I tell you what my plan is, they could prevent it from happening and we’re both stuck here.”

“Who could be listening?” Santana scoffed. “Sam is the only other person here.”

“And he could be listening,” Mike hissed. “Just trust me on this. I promise you that this would work. We can get out of here, get help, and go home and see our families again before midday tomorrow.”

“Mike, how can you expect me to trust you?” Santana raised an eyebrow. “After what happened to Quinn? She trusted you. And look at what happened to her.”

“I know, but this time you can trust me for real,” Mike said, speaking quite fast. “I’m really sorry about Quinn, I really am. But I trust you, Santana. It really would be great if you could turn up. We can both get out of here. We can both survive.”

“I’m sorry Mike, but your idea is really sketchy. Inviting me to meet you alone in the dead of night? I’m literally giving myself a death sentence.” Santana said.

“I know how this sounds, but trust me. Please?” Mike pleaded.

Santana thought for a moment. Could Mike be telling the truth? But look at what happened to Quinn. Whoever killed her had the key. They also had a knife so that they could threaten her into silence. Mike had both. The killer could easily be Mike. If Santana really wanted to survive, and by now she actually did, she would not blindly go to something that is most likely a trap.

Santana shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t know if your intentions are good for sure. Especially when you wouldn’t tell me how you need my help, or how you are going to escape. You’re going to have to escape by yourself.”

“It will be quite hard by myself,” Mike sighed, seemingly crestfallen. “I promised you guys that I would keep you safe and find an escape. I failed Quinn, I failed Brittany, I don’t want to fail you too. This is our chance. We really can get out of here, I’m positive.”

“I’m sorry Mike. But I guess I will have to take care of myself. Good luck in your escape,” Santana said.

Mike looked down. “Alright. But, if you change your mind anytime during the day, turn up at the front gate at eleven. I will wait for you for fifteen minutes. If you don’t show up, I will try and escape myself.”

“Okay,” Santana shrugged. “Well, I wish you the best of luck getting out of here. But I don’t think that I’ll show up.”

“I won’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do,” Mike whispered before standing up and leaving the room.

Santana sighed. Should she consider Mike’s idea? She didn’t know what it was, but what if he really was telling the truth? Then Santana would be able to see her family again. She would be able to live her life on, just like what Brittany and Quinn wanted. What was the right move? Mike could also be the killer. Actually, it was quite likely that Mike was the killer. He killed Brittany first, then killed Quinn because he had the opportunities. He is smart, he is quick, he has the traits of what a killer of this calibre would have.

Santana thought that the survivor’s move would be to not turn up to meet Mike one on one in the middle of the night. She decided that she was not going.

***

After a while of just sitting in the dining room, staring into blank space, letting her mind take her to random places, and allowing random thoughts to pop up in her head, she decided to just get up and deal with Quinn’s body. She didn’t really want to leave her in the lounge, as dead bodies tend to rot really soon and Santana didn’t really want to deal with the stench that would soon come from Quinn’s body. She left the dining room and walked the short distance back into the lounge.

Quinn was still as Santana left her, except her skin had now taken a nasty bluish-purple tone, which was a huge contrast to the pale porcelain skin that Santana had seen before she left her. Seeing Quinn in this state made Santana want to retch again. She probably shouldn’t have left her in the house for so long, but she couldn’t help it.

Santana crouched down next to Quinn’s body and scrunched up her nose a bit as some pungent smell protruded her nostrils. She wasn’t disgusted by it, not at all, as it came from Quinn, her best friend; it was just a bit unpleasant. She dug her hands underneath Quinn’s body to hoist her up. By now, Quinn had probably been dead by over half a day so her body was quite stiff to hold. She was also quite heavy. Santana initially tried to carry Quinn in her arms and take her to the backyard, where her body would be deposited with all the other bodies. But soon, she changed her mind as she didn’t think that her hand would’ve been able to withstand all that weight for so long, so she opted to drag Quinn across to the backyard.

As she started to drag the body across the carpet, she felt a sharp sting of pain in her chest. It hurt her to see Quinn deposited in such a disrespectful way. Had she been stronger, Quinn would’ve been lovingly carried and buried in the ground, where she would have laid to rest. Santana didn’t know if Brittany had the same treatment. She most likely was not buried, but at least she didn’t get dragged a hundred meters to be chucked with the other bodies like a piece of trash.

Santana dragged Quinn all the way to the back door, where she momentarily let go to open the door. As soon as the door was open, she grabbed Quinn’s arms again and started to drag her outside, then across the concrete.

An unpleasant sound was made as Quinn slid through the floor, leaving a trail of some kind of liquid behind her. Santana didn’t really want to know what it was.

Her arms were becoming sore with all the effort she was making dragging Quinn. You would think that someone of Quinn’s figure would be quite light. After all, she was the top of the pyramid for a while. But when that person is completely uncooperative, as they were completely dead weight, they were a complete nightmare to drag.

The grass was uneven. This meant that there were times when Quinn’s leg or some other part of her body got caught in some uneven surfaces or some holes. When that happened, Santana had to go over and first figure out where she got stuck, then reach out and remove that part of the body from the hole. It really wasn’t a good experience. Her body was a little sticky, probably from decomposition. Santana would make sure to wash her hands afterwards.

Santana knew vaguely where all the other dead bodies were put. It was put at the far side of the back garden, as far away from the house as possible. That came with its good and bad. The good thing was that the rotting smell of dead bodies did not reach the house. The bad thing was that it was a complete pain in the arse to take the dead body there.

Santana was about fifty meters away from where the dead bodies were supposedly put before her arms screamed out in pain and she had to stop. She let Quinn’s arm drop limply onto the floor and crouched down, panting. Santana squeezed her eyes shut as she willed herself not to cry. She had cried way too much over the past few days.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” Santana mumbled. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve saved you,” Santana crumpled to the ground, laying back on the grass, where her eyes opened again. The sight of the bright blue sky met them. It was slightly cloudy. Laying on the grass reminded Santana of what she did with Quinn and Brittany some days ago, before Sam found the bloody shirt. It didn’t actually seem that long ago. She still couldn’t believe that in that short amount of time, both girls that were beside her have died. It made one lone tear come out of Santana’s right eye, trailing down her face, past her ear, and onto the grass. Santana didn’t really care anymore. She turned her head to the left, where Quinn was lying face down on the grass. Maybe, if she pretended hard enough, she could imagine that Quinn was still alive next to her, just enjoying the sun beaming down upon them as they laid on the sun-baked ground beneath them. Santana sighed. No matter how hard she tried, reality still hit her like a truck. Quinn wasn’t alive. She wasn’t coming back. Neither was Brittany. Santana looked back up at the sky again. This time, a single cloud blocked the sun, so she was momentarily in the shade. She wondered if Brittany and Quinn were above the clouds. Could they see her, lying helpless in the back garden? Could they see her every move?

She really wanted to talk to them again. Even if it was for one last time. Maybe they would come and talk to her in their dreams. She vaguely recalled abuela telling her that abuelo had come to visit her after he died in her dream, before Santana outed herself to her. She didn’t know if it actually was abuelo’s spirit coming to talk to her, or just a figment of abuela’s imagination. Santana really hoped that it was the former, as then she had a chance to talk to her favourite girls again.

She just laid there on the grass motionless for what felt like an eternity. She was tired. The vague stench of Quinn’s body beside her made its way into Santana’s nostrils, but she didn’t care. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. If Sam hadn’t chosen this time to come and talk to her, Santana probably would’ve fallen asleep.

“Do you need help?” Sam’s voice called. Santana opened her eyes again and sat up. “Um, with the body?” Sam gestured to Quinn, who was still face down on the grass.

Santana sighed and groggily got up to her feet. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Alright,” Sam walked the short distance over to where Santana was standing. “I’ll grab her feet, and you can grab her shoulders. We’re nearly there.”

“I thought that your arm was injured,” Santana frowned.

“Not injured enough to not be able to carry a body,” Sam replied, gripping Quinn’s feet.

Santana grabbed Quinn’s shoulders. “Okay, one, two, three, up,” Sam said, voice grunting a little at the end as he, along with Santana, lifted Quinn up with effort. “All right, you walk backwards, we’re nearly there.” The two of them started to walk towards the far end of the backyard.

Neither of them spoke to each other during this time: there was simply nothing to say. They walked in silence for a minute or so until Sam’s expression suddenly changed.

“What’s the matter?” Santana asked, confused.

“Um, put her down for now,” Sam ordered, and the two of them lowered her gently onto the ground. Santana turned her head to look at where Sam was looking at.

All the bodies were gone.

“What?” Sam gasped, walking over briskly to where the dead bodies were. “The bodies were definitely here, you can smell it and you can see the bloodstains.”

He was right. There were patches of red grass, and there were a few flies nearby, presumably attracted by the smell of the decomposing bodies.

“Were they moved?” Santana frowned.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam replied. “Probably recently as well. But I don’t get why.”

“You think that Mike did it?” Santana asked.

Sam wiped some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t know. I don’t think that it matters anyway. Where should we leave Quinn then?”

“I don’t really want to go and find the other bodies, it seems pretty ghastly,” Santana shuddered. “Should we just leave her here? Or should dig a hole and bury her?”

“I don’t have the energy to dig a hole, Santana,” Sam said apologetically.

“Yeah, me neither. Well, let’s just leave her here, I guess.” Santana said.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “You want to stay and say some final goodbyes or something?”

“I think I will,” Santana replied. “I didn’t get the chance with Britt. I think I should with Quinn.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded. He straightened his shirt. “Well, I’ll be off now.”

“Bye,” Santana said. Sam nodded again and made his way back across the back garden towards the house.

Santana looked back at Quinn. She flipped her over so that she could see her face. Her face was now more of a brown colour than bluish-purple, most likely because of all the mud that collected on her face as she got dragged through it. Santana crouched down next to her and brushed a tendril of blonde hair from Quinn’s face. She decided to also wipe away the mud on the blonde’s face, because she felt that it would be quite disrespectful to leave her all dirty like something disposable.

“You’ve been a really good friend to me, Q. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t protect you, I know you really wanted to live. Sometimes that I wish that the killer got me and let you live. It would work out for both of us, wouldn’t it?” Santana chuckled a bit, tears starting to sting her eyes again. “You would live and I get to see Britt-Britt again. But life doesn’t work that way, does it? Anyway, thank you, Q, for all the years of love and friendship. I will honour your wishes, and Britt’s wishes, and try my best to make it out of here alive. I know that Mike has invited me to escape with him, but I don’t think that I will go. I don’t know if he has good intentions or not.” Santana exhaled deeply. “Well, this is my final goodbye, Q. I can’t thank you enough, for being such a loyal friend to me. Pay me a visit in my dreams just like my abuelo did for my abuela, okay? Also, bring Britt with you. I love you guys.” Santana blinked a tear away. “Rest in peace, Quinn.” Despite Quinn’s still rather dirty face, Santana brushed more hair away from her face and kissed her on her forehead. Then, she turned and made her way back towards the house.

***

Santana was sat on a chair in the dining room, when Mike came into the room and joined her, sitting opposite her.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come tonight? I promise you, we will get out of here. It will literally be a safe passage to safety,” Mike pleaded.

“I’m really sorry Mike, but I already told you that I’m not coming. Please just tell me how we are going to escape if you want me to change my mind,” Santana said.

“Look,” Mike whipped his head around rapidly from side to side to make sure that no one was listening. “I’m still worried that someone will hear my plan and will attempt to stop it. But I can tell you this: we are going to climb. I’m not going to tell you where right now in case someone’s listening, but I found an exploit that we can climb over.”

“And how did you find that ‘exploit’?” Santana questioned.

Mike still looked on edge. “By thinking outside the box,” Mike replied. “Please tell me that you’ll reconsider? Climbing is a lot easier with two people. We can help each other.”

Santana looked past Mike for a few seconds, thinking. Did she trust Mike enough to meet him in the dark alone? Did she trust Mike enough that he wouldn’t sabotage her when she was climbing, making her fall to her death? She didn’t even know how high the climb was. It was probably quite dangerous if Mike needed Santana’s help. Mike was a very athletic person. He should’ve been able to do the climb by himself. If he couldn’t, then Santana had no chance. Why would he call Santana over then, if neither of them had a chance? It was a trap. A trap for Mike to get Santana alone, where she would be killed in cold blood.

Being killed is bad. She had already promised Quinn that she would live her life. She had promised herself that she would live her life.

But what if it wasn’t a trap? Santana was being given a free pass to escape. She would be able to make it back to her family safely. She would be able to start her senior year in a few weeks, graduate, and pursue her dreams of being a lawyer. For herself and her loved ones. It was too tempting. Could she trust Mike? She needed to ask him something first.

“Tell me this, Mike,” Santana leaned forward on the table and laced her fingers together. “Why were the bodies moved?”

“What bodies?” Mike looked confused at first. Then he widened his eyes in realisation. “The dead ones? They were moved?” Santana nodded. “I didn’t even know that they were moved.”

“Say you were telling the truth,” Santana followed up. “Why do you think that they were moved?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Mike sighed and turned his head to look out the back window, most likely contemplating. “Maybe something is being done with the bodies? I don’t know what they could be used for, though. Are you sure that the bodies are gone?”

“Positive,” Santana nodded. “There were bloodstains and flies all around it. The bodies were definitely there. Probably removed recently.”

“Why did you go there?” Mike frowned. Then he knew the answer. “Quinn.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t take her all the way there. Sam turned up halfway through and he helped me carry her,” Santana said. A lightbulb seemed to light up in Mike’s head.

“Did you say Sam? I think that he moved the bodies. He is probably setting up something grotesque, something that will haunt us as we die. He is probably going to go for manipulation or torture. He is going to dangle Tina’s head or something in front of me while he gets me. He probably will dangle Brittany’s in front of you,” Mike said gravely.

“That’s horrible!” Santana gasped, feeling like she wanted to vomit. If she saw Brittany’s decapitated head she would probably faint. The thought of it was simply unbearable.

“I trust you, Santana,” Mike said sincerely. “Please tell me you’ll think about it?”

Santana thought for a while. Was she going to take the risk? If Mike was not lying, they would be out of here in no time. If Mike was lying, however, she was dying tonight. It was a hard decision. She didn’t know yet.

“I’ll think about it,” Santana confirmed.

“That’s all I need to hear,” Mike gave a small smile. “I’ll be at the gate at eleven sharp. I’ll wait for you for fifteen minutes, then I’ll climb. I’ll wait for you for five more minutes when I’m on the other side, okay? If you come then I’ll help you get over, and we can get away. Otherwise, I’m leaving by myself.”

“Sounds fair,” Santana nodded. “What if Sam comes for you before then though, while you are waiting for me?”

“I’ll make a run for it,” Mike replied. “I’ll climb if I can, and I’ll run away. If not, then I’m coming back into the house and I’ll come and get you. We’ll take him on together.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Santana said. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll come though. If all goes well and you manage to escape, don’t wait for me for longer than you should. Just leave without me.”

“Okay,” Mike sounded reluctant. “Well, thank you for reconsidering. You won’t regret it.” He stood up, giving Santana one last look before leaving the room, leaving Santana sat alone in the dining room to think about her choices.

***

It had been hours since Mike had talked to Santana and she still hadn’t made up her mind. She was perched on top of her bed, staring at the wall opposite her. This was the room that she had been sleeping in for a week and a half now. It used to be so… jubilant. Lively. Now it was just cold. Empty. Barren. This place used to buzz of chatter at all times. She would hear her girlfriend’s voice, babbling away at what Santana would think to be the most amazing things, or she would pick up small arguments with Quinn just because she felt like it. Now, it was just her. Silence. Nothing.

Did Santana really trust Mike? Mike had the key to Santana’s room now. He still hadn’t given it back. This meant that Santana was not safe in here, if Mike was the killer. Mike had strongly suggested that it was Sam, but didn’t Sam say that he was the scapegoat for everything? He always took the blame?

She didn’t feel safe in this room anymore. Not when her two best friends got plucked out of here without anyone’s notice.

If she wanted to survive, she was going to have to move rooms.

Grabbing some of her things, which wasn’t much as Santana didn’t really feel the need to put on makeup or anything now, she made her way across the corridor. She went over to the bathroom first, however. To be honest, she didn’t know why. She was just letting her legs lead her to wherever they pleased.

When she made it to the bathroom, the girl at the other side of the glass stared at her. Santana stared back. She didn’t recognise the girl on the other side. Yes, she had the same hair colour. Same eye colour. Same skin tone. But that girl was completely foreign to Santana.

It took her a while to realise that she was looking at a mirror, that she was looking at a reflection of herself. Except it wasn’t really a reflection of herself anymore. It was a ghost. A shadow. A shell.

Giving a heavy sigh, she tore her gaze away from the mirror. The girl on the other side did the same. Santana turned her back and walked straight out of the bathroom. There was nothing that she needed here.

Which room should she reside in? There were really so many. She guessed that it didn’t matter. It was best that she couldn’t be found throughout the night.

Eventually, she decided to not sleep in a bedroom tonight. Whoever the killer was could hunt her down and find her. She decided to sleep in the study. There was an armchair inside. There was also a couch. She could sleep on the couch. It would be better than the bed she slept in for the last week or so anyway. That bed contained too many memories. The times where she made love with Brittany inside. The combined scent of Brittany and Quinn. The time they spent time alone together in that room. No. She was not sleeping in that bed tonight.

She closed the door to the study behind her. She didn’t have the key to it, but it didn’t even matter. It would just get picked if she locked it. She saw the armchair sat at the corner, so she went over and pushed it until it was against the door. The tip of the chair was leaning against the bottom of the circular handle. It would be hard to get in now.

It didn’t feel like it was enough. She might need some kind of trap for the killer. Something that would turn out to be a nuisance, giving Santana a chance to wake up and take the killer on, instead of being caught off guard. She dug through the study. Whilst looking for things that may help her, she glanced towards the windowsill. There was a terracotta pot. That could help. Looking over to the shelf she spotted a vase made of china. That could also help.

She went over to get them and set the vase and the pot on the floor. She tilted the armchair back so that she could put the fragile items under each leg. When the killer tries to force their way through the door, the armchair would be pushed down with enough force to crush the pot and the vase, making it break. That should make a sound loud enough for Santana to wake up and not be helpless.

The security in this room was not perfect. But at least it was something; it was satisfactory. Santana looked at the watch on her wrist. It was nine forty-five. She still had a little over an hour to decide. She sat down on the couch.

Still considering whether or not she should go and meet Mike at eleven tonight.

~

It is time for what has become the least favourite part of my day.

Used to be my favourite. But honestly? After what I did to Quinn, I hate myself. With passion.

I hate myself so much that I just want to scream.

But I shouldn’t.

Screaming won’t help me. It won’t help anyone.

Anyway, I have resigned to whatever evil is brewing inside of me. It is too strong. I have no more self-control.

If I refuse what it wants to do, it punishes me. I don’t like being punished.

Anyway, who am I targeting today?

I don’t even know. There is literally no one left. I don’t know what I should do. Does it even make a difference who I kill first?

I’ve killed so many people. I hurt so many people. It’s all I do nowadays.

And I can’t stop.

Oh well. I’ll just close my eyes and pick a person at random.

The lucky winner is… or should I say the unlucky winner is… Mike.

Alright, Mike is a really good person. He is kind. He really doesn’t deserve what is coming to him.

Talking of that, um, should I even go for him tonight? He will probably see it coming. He has a knife.

I know that I have a knife too, but I’m not sure that I would win a one on one fight against him. Not in my state.

I’ll see how it goes. I’ll bail if things get bad.

Yes, I will get punished. But I would rather get punished than die.

Anyway, Mike said that he would be trying to escape tonight. I’m still intrigued as to how he would do that. I’ve been scouring the whole place and I could not find an ‘exploit’.

I look at my watch. It is ten-forty. Mike said that he would be at the gate at eleven. Better be there before he is, then, or he would escape, wouldn’t he? Him escaping would be very bad.

All right, let’s get moving. Mask on. Knife in my hand.

I still feel guilty about Quinn. She was so scared when she saw me dressed like this. I still regret killing her. She didn’t deserve it. She will haunt me for the rest of my life, however much of it I have left.

I make my way from the back garden back round to the front. Mike should be here, right? I look at my watch. It is ten fifty.

The gravel makes a soft crunching sound as I walk towards the front gate. It is currently a little too dark to see much at all, but it’s fine. The soft sound that is made with every step I take is soothing. The atmosphere is tranquil. The clear night sky, the soft breeze. It is nice.

I get close enough to the front gate to realise that Mike was not here. Okay, that’s good. I’m here early. I can take him by surprise when he gets here.

Ugh, my mask is blocking my vision. I take it off. There. Much better. I can actually see now.

Oh wait.

What?

How is Mike at the other side of the gate already? How is he out of this property? How – what the hell?

Where did he climb? How on earth did he get out?

He said that he would wait. He didn’t wait.

Oh shit. Mike sees me. I think that he sees the knife in my hand as well as the mask. Well, he knows that I’m the killer now. We make eye contact for a few seconds. I can’t really see his expression, as he is quite far from me and it is quite dark, but he takes a few steps backwards. He bolts.

He disappears into the woods.

Fuck! He’s gone.

Well, this is over. Mike escaped. He is going to get help, the police will come and… yeah. Bad things will happen to me.

This is all your fault!

No, fuck off! I tell you what to do but you don’t actually have to do it! It’s your fault!

I only do what you tell me to do because you punish me!

Ugh, I don’t even want to argue anymore. How did Mike get out?

I stand there, thinking for a few seconds. Then the answer strikes me.

He climbed over the gate. The front gate.

Why did that never cross my mind?

The fences were unclimbable because it had spikes on top. The gate didn’t. It was just so much taller than the fences that I never thought about climbing the gate.

Shit. Mike is smart.

But why didn’t he wait?

I make my way into the house. The clock in the lounge catches my eyes.

It is eleven twenty-five.

What? I look at my watch. It says ten fifty-five.

Fuck. My watch is thirty minutes slow.

Mike did wait. I just came too late.

Well, he’s the one that got away.


	12. Day 11 Part 1

Santana started to stir from her dreamless sleep. It was weird. Time really flies by, when you are asleep, huh? It didn’t feel like hours had passed. Only… seconds. Maybe even less than that. Santana didn’t know. Is this what death felt like? Just, the feeling you get when you are asleep? You don’t feel anything. It scared her to think that when she died she would be spending eternity in that zone of unconsciousness. It really was not appealing.

Well, that motivated Santana to stay alive even more.

She opened her eyes to extremely bright light. She squinted, trying to not let so much light into her eyes and burn her retinas. She also put a hand just above her eyes, as a vain attempt to shade them, but to no avail. It was so bright!

It took Santana a couple of seconds to adjust, but when her eyes finally adjusted and she could see properly, she lowered her hands and looked around the room that she was in. If memory served her right, she fell asleep in the study, on the couch. It was surprising, then, that her back didn’t hurt. She felt… new. Refreshed. She looked down and realised that she was sleeping in a bed. That confused Santana. Didn’t she fall asleep on the couch in the study?

Santana raked her eyes across the room she was in. Why was everything so… bare? So white? She was in a room devoid of furniture bar her bed, and everything was either painted white or made of white construction materials like quartz.

Santana did not recognise this place. Her heart rate increased as she began to panic. Was she dead? Did she die in her sleep? What was this place? A cell for… recently dead people?

Before long, the door on the other side of the room, which Santana didn’t even realise was there, opened and a person walked in. She was wearing a long, white dress that cascaded down the length of her body, her hair was meticulously done, she had light makeup on, with lime green eyeliner accentuating her beautiful hazel-green eyes. Shoulder-length blonde hair was flowing around her head, like rippling water. That girl was stunning.

Santana did a double-take. Her eyes squinted to see that person clearer. That person continued to walk towards Santana, eventually coming to a stop about a metre from the brunette.

Santana and the girl’s eyes met and no one spoke for a long time. Santana just had to look at the girl’s face really carefully, to make sure that her eyes were not deceiving her. She just stared at her, mouth opening and closing like an idiot. After what seemed like minutes, her mouth finally started to work again.

“Q-Quinn?” Santana gasped.

Quinn’s lips curled up into a huge smile. “It’s me,” she whispered. “It’s me!” she squealed, surging forward to wrap her arms around Santana in a hug. Eventually, they let go and held each other at arm’s length.

“W-What are you doing here?” Santana asked, starting to chuckle too because she was so happy. “Wait… I thought that you died? Oh my god, am I dead too? Is this what happens when you die?”

Quinn giggled. “Slow down with the questions, San,” she said, amused. “Well, yes I am dead, sadly,” Quinn’s face fell a little, but soon her expression perked up and she was beaming again. “Didn’t you tell me to come and see you yesterday?”

“Wait, you actually can do that?” Santana asked incredulously. “I don’t – I didn’t expect to actually see you, Q. Oh, you don’t know how happy I am right now!” Santana did a small jump in excitement, wrapping her arms around Quinn’s back and holding her in another close hug.

Suddenly Santana felt a little unsure. “Are you real?”

Quinn gave her a small smile. “Do I feel real to you?” she replied with a question.

Santana squeezed Quinn’s arm. “Yes,” she said slowly.

“Then I’m real,” Quinn smiled.

“Then I don’t understand,” Santana frowned. “Am I talking to your spirit or something? Or your ghost?”

Quinn laughed. “You’re talking to me, that’s all that matters.” She looked around the room. “I don’t really have all that long, but we can talk? That’s what you said you wanted yesterday, right?”

“Yeah,” Santana said, a little breathless. “You wanna sit down?”

“That would be nice,” Quinn replied, and together they walked towards the bed and sat on it.

“You, um, remember how you died, right?” Santana asked tentatively.

Quinn smiled softly. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Then, uh, how come you look so… pristine? Like, you literally look like a supermodel,” Santana pointed out. It was true. Quinn’s skin was creamy, and her throat contained no sign of bruises that came when she got strangled. Her hair was done to perfection, and she smelled really clean and a little minty, nothing like how everyone smelled towards the end of the ‘vacation’ in Puck’s family house.

Quinn blushed. “Thank you, San, but I wouldn’t say a _supermodel_ ,” she batted her eyelashes a few times. “Well, you wouldn’t expect me to have bruises all over me for eternity, right? That would be horrible,” Quinn shuddered a little bit.

“I guess,” Santana trailed off. Then she remembered what she had said when she said she wanted Quinn to come and talk to her. “Did you see Britt? Did you bring her with you? Don’t be offended, but I’m also dying to see her.”

Quinn’s smile fell. “Um, I haven’t seen Brittany yet. Actually, I haven’t seen anyone yet. Um, I don’t know when I will. But hey, I’m seeing you right now, right?”

“Yeah,” Santana tried her best not to sound disappointed. “Just wondering, could you see everything that I was doing yesterday?”

“Now I wouldn’t do that,” Quinn’s lips curled up into a small smirk. “That’s an invasion of your privacy. Also, you were by my dead body the whole time. If I see you, I see myself and I don’t really want to do that.”

“Oh,” Santana breathed. Her mouth opened again, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. How come that she had so much to say when Quinn wasn’t here, and now that Quinn was actually here, her mind drew up to a blank?

The girls just basked in each other’s presence for a short while, before Quinn piped up again.

“Look Santana, I think that I have to be off now,” Quinn sounded a bit reluctant to leave, as she stood up.

“Wait!” Santana surged forward and grabbed Quinn’s arm. “Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn sighed. “I’ll try and come visit you some other time, okay?”

“Please do that,” Santana pleaded, drawing Quinn in for another hug. “I really missed you.”

“I know, I’m awesome,” Quinn teased. They let go of each other.

“Wait, just before you leave,” Santana said. “Um, I hate to bring this up now, but you know who killed you, right?”

Quinn suddenly looked hesitant. “Look, Santana, I don’t really think that’s important. What is important is that Mike escaped yesterday night, so you are left in the house with Sam. Sam thinks that you killed everyone, so he will be coming for you now. Just, um, stay safe okay? Stay alive. Mike will be going to get some help I believe so just hold on and then you can be the best lawyer, okay?”

“Yes, Quinn,” Santana said reverently. She sighed. “You are such a good friend,”

Quinn smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Santana. I’ve never realised how strong our friendship was until yesterday.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened to you, though, your death seemed like it really hurt,” Santana said.

“It did,” Quinn grimaced. “But it’s all over now. I’ll be watching over you, Santana. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Thank you Quinn,” Santana pulled Quinn into one last hug before Quinn really had to leave.

“I’ll try to see you soon, okay?” Quinn called, as her form began to fade, turning more and more transparent.

“Wait! Quinn! What should I do now?” Santana called, but Quinn just smiled as she became less and less visible.

Eventually, Santana was standing alone in the white room. She looked from left to right and wondered what to do.

***

Santana’s brown eyes jolted open and she sat straight up. She rubbed away the residue of sleep from her eyes with her hands. As she did that, she could feel the bulge in her eyes, and with every motion of her hand, her eye hurt a little. It was so swollen. Was she crying again last night? Santana couldn’t really remember anymore. The past few days have all been tears, tears, tears.

She rotated herself so that she could now sit back on the couch. Her back really hurt, so she leaned back, letting out a breath as her sore back muscles started to get a little bit better. The sun wasn’t completely up yet, so she would imagine that it was early morning. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately, most likely because of all that was going on these recent days, so she was a little sleep-deprived and very tired. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the headrest so that she was facing the ceiling.

Did Quinn’s spirit really come and visit her? Of course, it could’ve just been a figment of Santana’s imagination. Quinn didn’t exactly say anything remotely helpful, things that could help Santana figure out who the killer was. Although, if what Quinn said was correct, and Mike did escape, the only other person left was Sam.

Was it Sam? Santana had always thought that it was him, but quite lately he had managed to convince her otherwise, that it wasn’t him. Maybe it had been him all along. He managed to manipulate her and Quinn into thinking that he was the scapegoat. He was really suspicious because he was the actual killer.

Santana thought that she shouldn’t jump to conclusions yet. Quinn may not be real, as much as it hurt her heart to think that. This meant that Quinn in her dream just voiced what Santana was thinking herself. What if Mike’s escape was actually a trap and Mike was the killer? Then Santana was grateful that she didn’t turn up, or she would actually be with Quinn and Brittany right now. But if Mike was the killer, then Santana probably will not make it out alive. He was stronger than her, faster, smarter. She didn’t really stand a chance.

What did Quinn say about having not seen Brittany yet? Did that mean that Brittany was not dead? Another tiny spark of hope lit in Santana’s chest. But Quinn did say that she hadn’t seen anyone yet. So Brittany was probably dead as well, it’s just that Quinn hasn’t seen her yet. The tiny hope in Santana’s chest extinguished.

Santana got up from the couch and stretched her limbs. She glanced over to the door and was pleased to see that neither the vase nor the pot had broken. She had managed to survive the night without any problems. But that may be because the killer didn’t target her the night before. She walked over and tilted the armchair back, removing the vase and the pot from beneath its legs. That was when she saw a note on the floor, most likely slipped under the door. Frowning a little, she bent down and picked up the note. It was face down, so she couldn’t see what was written on it. She flipped it over.

It read: _Best of luck. Look in Britt’s drawer._

It was written in a very scruffy manner, most likely scribbled. Santana assumed that this note was from Mike, who had slipped it under her door before he went for the escape. Judging by the fact that he had written Santana a note as he probably realised that she was not going to come, Quinn was right about Mike making a successful escape. One thing that bugged Santana, however, was how Mike knew where Santana was in the house for the night.

That was something that she couldn’t figure out. Mike probably saw her lights on in the evening and just assumed that she was residing in there for the night. Or he just saw Santana moving things into that room. Oh well. Santana decided that that wasn’t important. What could Mike have put in Brittany’s drawer, though?

More curious than scared, Santana walked over to retrieve her jacket which was hanging on the chair, putting it on. She made her way back towards the door, opening it, and going outside. The air was quite cool and crisp in the corridor, which was a nice contrast from the stuffy air inside the study. It also helped quell the minor headache that Santana was having when she first woke up.

The door to the Unholy Trinity’s room was open. Santana wasn’t that alarmed by that, as she couldn’t remember whether she shut the door or not. She slid into the room and trudged across to get to Brittany’s drawer. Santana didn’t exactly know what to expect when she opened the drawer, so she braced herself for the worst.

It could be a trap that Mike meticulously set. Or it could be a gift from Mike.

The drawer slid open. All of the contents that were inside Brittany’s drawer were removed. Inside, was a knife.

Santana was a bit confused for a few moments. Then she remembered that Mike had a knife. He must have given it to her to protect herself from Sam, who Quinn had said would be going for Santana now. Inside the drawer, there was a note, most likely from Mike.

However, the handwriting didn’t look like Mike’s. It looked a little forged, or fake, as it didn’t look like anyone’s handwriting. Someone else wrote this note and tried to conceal their identity by trying to write by either mimicking someone else’s handwriting badly, or just not using their handwriting.

The note read:

_It is just you and Sam in the house now. Sam may try to kill you. If so, use this to defend yourself. If it goes down to life or death, kill him. I have faith in you, Santana xx_

Why did whoever write this sign off with ‘xx’? It made no sense. It seemed like something from a secret admirer. Who could have this been from? Of course, it could’ve been from Mike, but why wouldn’t he just write normally? This could also be from Sam, but why would he warn Santana against himself?

Santana racked her brains for answers. Could this be from neither of them? Could this be… from someone who’s dead? This could be from Quinn. Quinn was quite a feminine person, so it made sense for her to sign this off with ‘xx’. Maybe she didn’t want to write this in her own hand because she didn’t want to creep Santana out, as she was dead. Also, it made sense as it was Quinn who warned her about Sam in the dream in the first place.

Did Quinn’s ghost write this note?

A little creepy, Santana must admit. But she was grateful. She had Quinn’s support. Thank you, Quinn.

Gripping the knife tightly onto her left hand, Santana wondered what she should do now. Should she wait for Sam to strike, or should she go attack Sam herself? Maybe Sam was still sleeping. Should Santana play the killer and kill him in his sleep? Santana doubted that it would work. She didn’t know how strong Sam was. Yes, he had a bad arm, but Santana didn’t know how bad it was. If he was able to carry Quinn yesterday, it was probably strong enough to overpower Santana.

The thought of an inevitable fight to the death made her a bit nervous. If this was two days ago, she wouldn’t believe that she would be this nervous. She had no motivation to live then, so she would most likely just let the killer, who Santana was now assuming to be Sam, kill her. Now with Quinn’s motivation, Santana was going to live for her family. For herself.

The idea of her cutting Sam, or anyone for that matter, with the knife that she was gripping in her hand was really morbid to Santana. She wondered if she would actually be able to follow through and stab him. It’s something that your brain just tells you not to do, no matter the circumstances. But she believed that in the heat of the moment, fuelled by adrenaline and the primal intuition to survive, she would attack with the knife.

Santana shuddered a bit. Would she be able to live with the guilt of killing a person? Even if she made it out of here, what would that make her? A murderer? A killer? Assuming Sam was the killer, how was she any better than him if she killed him?

But Sam killed everyone. Remember that, Santana. He killed Brittany. He killed Quinn. Avenge them, or he will kill you too.

Santana set the knife on the bedside drawer, breathing heavily. Her hands were slightly sweaty. What should she do the whole day? Also, what should she do if she encounters Sam? She didn’t think that she was ready for a fight. She had never really held a knife before, as she wasn’t a good cook, let alone used it as a weapon. Sam would be really experienced with it. He killed about ten people already.

Does Sam even have a knife? Santana tried to think back to retrace where the knives went. Quinn had a knife. It went to Mercedes’ group. Mike took it when Tina died. Now Mike gave it to Santana. So what used to be the Trinity’s knife has circulated back to Santana. What about the other knife, that had never been found? The one used by the killer? Sam must have a knife.

A one on one brawl to the death with knives. Santana’s stomach churned uncomfortably.

No, be brave, she chastised herself. Do it for yourself. Avenge Brittany. Avenge Quinn. You can do this.

She picked up the knife again. She kept a loose grip on it and started to swing it from left to right.

Pick up a rhythm. Pick up a rhythm.

It was soothing. She watched the knife as it went from left to right, back to left, back to right.

She was so concentrated on the motion of the knife that she didn’t realise that her grip on the knife had become so loose that it flew out of her hand. The knife travelled a few meters, eventually wedging itself into the wall. Santana cringed at the knife being let loose from her hands. She could’ve easily hurt herself.

She may need more practice.

***

It’s funny when you realise that you have a high probability of dying today. Santana didn’t really have this feeling before as back then she had the company of Brittany and Quinn, so she thought that they were safe; the killer couldn’t get her. Then Brittany went down, followed by Quinn. At that point, Santana wasn’t exactly scared of death because then she would be able to see the two blondes again. She didn’t really have the will to live then, but now she does, which is why her stomach is constantly flipping with anticipation. It really was not a good feeling, and Santana felt like she was going to throw up. She tried to take deep breaths to calm herself down, but it didn’t work. Santana’s nausea was a huge hassle: it made her vulnerable. If Sam came for her now then she would be dead meat.

Actually, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She really wanted to see her blondes again.

 _No, what are you thinking?_ Santana chastised herself. Think about your family. Think about your little brother, who looks up to you. What would he think when he finds out that you just resigned to death without fighting?

Santana wondered how Sam was feeling. He was the killer, right? He was probably feeling confident. Excited maybe. When, no _if_ he kills Santana then he would’ve accomplished what he came here to do. Why he would kill everyone here, Santana still didn’t know.

She walked over to the closet and begun ruffling through the clothes. She thought that she would get changed because she hadn’t showered in days and she was starting to smell.

A white shirt with a picture of a cartoon duck in the middle caught her eye. She dug it out and held it out in front of her. Brittany’s shirt.

She brought it close to her face and took a deep inhale. She could still smell her scent on it. A tear made its way out of Santana’s eye. She missed her Britt-Britt so much.

She took off her shirt and put the duck shirt on. Brittany was taller than her, so the shirt was a bit loose on Santana, but Santana didn’t care. She was going to kill Sam for her Britt-Britt. She was going to honour her when she gets out, every single day. Live her life to the fullest for Brittany.

She went over to the bed and laid down upon it, above the covers. She grabbed a pillow that was close to her and put it under her head. She could smell the scent of both Brittany and Quinn in there. God, she missed them so much. They had both been so significant in Santana’s life, she couldn’t imagine not having them by her side in her senior year. She didn’t think that she would make such close friends ever again. No one liked her. She was a bitch. She lashed everyone with her vicious words. She was such an unlikeable person. What did she do to deserve two such great friends? Santana shifted her head a little to the right, onto a wet patch in the pillow. Wait. Why was it wet?

It wasn’t until a short while later that she realised that she was crying. Oh well. She wasn’t going to stop it this time. Let it out, it is said that people feel better after a good cry. She needs to be in the right mindset when she is taking on Sam, if she wants to survive.

She flipped back onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She let her mind wander to where it wanted to go, which happened to be down memory lane.

~

Seven-year-old Santana was at the sandpit. The teacher told the kids that they had an hour to play, which made everyone cheer. An hour! That’s so much time! That’s sixty minutes! Santana was excited. A small downside was that Santana didn’t have anyone to play with. She hadn’t made any friends yet, as she recently joined her school after her family moved because her dad got transferred to another hospital. Her daddy told her that it was a bigger one than the one he worked at before, and this meant that he would get more money! Santana was really happy, because more money meant more ice cream!

Santana loved playing with sand. Her mommy told her that they came from a really hot place. This meant that they loved going to the beach! Santana wasn’t allowed to swim in the sea yet, as her daddy was afraid that she would drown in the bad water, so she normally just played in the sand while her parents sunbathed by her side. She was a really good sand-castle builder! Her mommy said that she was a… ma… master! Yes! She didn’t know what that was, but it sounds really, really good!

It had been about ten minutes into her playtime and she had already built a massive sandcastle! She was especially proud that she didn’t use those bucket things that she sometimes sees other people using. She was smiling smugly as her sandcastle caught the attention of nearby children, who stared at it in awe.

Then one kid decided to come over and kick her sandcastle over! And as if that wasn’t enough, he laughed at Santana and threw sand into her face!

Santana spluttered, coughing sand out of her mouth. It was so gross! She then looked at the flat surface of the sand in front of her. Where did her sandcastle go? Her lower lip started to quiver.

Then a girl with long blonde hair walked over to her. She was wearing a shirt with a unicorn in it. Santana loved unicorns! They were so cute! Then she looked up and saw the girl’s face. She was also really cute!

“I’m really sorry,” she pouted. Santana got caught in her deep blue eyes, they were so pretty! “That boy is a bully,” she frowned a bit at the thought of the nasty kid who kicked over Santana’s castle.

“It’s okay,” Santana sighed. “I can build another one.”

The girl perked up. “Really? You build such cool castles!” she gushed. Then she suddenly looked down and started to fiddle with her fingers. “Can you teach me how to build one?” she asked bashfully.

Santana smiled. Was this lovely girl her first friend? “Of course,” she replied. The blonde girl in front of her raised her head with a huge grin on her face.

“Yay!” she squealed. She held out her hand. “I’m Brittany.”

Santana took Brittany’s hand in her own. “I’m Santana.”

~

“That girl looks really scared,” Brittany whispered into Santana’s ear as they sat next to each other in class.

Eight-year-old Santana looked over to where Brittany was looking at. Standing next to the teacher, was a small girl who looked really nervous. She was twisting her hands, biting her lip, and her left leg was shaking a little. Santana felt a little bad for her. She knew how it felt on one’s first day.

“We have a lovely girl joining us today,” the teacher announced. “Everyone make her feel welcome, okay?” she rubbed the girl’s back with her right hand. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?” she requested.

The girl looked petrified at the expectation of speaking in front of the whole class. Her hazel eyes darted from left to right, then back to the teacher, who gave her an encouraging smile.

“Um,” she gulped, her voice tiny. “I’m Lucy, but I prefer to be called Quinn.”

“Everyone, this is Quinn,” the teacher echoed in a warm voice, in case anyone hadn’t heard what the small girl said. She then turned her attention to Quinn. “Why don’t you go sit next to those girls?” she asked, pointing to the empty seat opposite Brittany and Santana at the table.

Quinn nodded meekly and trudged over to the other two girl’s side, sitting down quietly.

“Hey!” Brittany beamed. “I’m Brittany.”

“I’m Quinn,” Quinn mumbled. Brittany laughed.

“We already know that silly,” she chuckled, amused. She pointed to the brunette next to her. “This is Santana. I already know that we’re going to be besties!”

Quinn just looked down at her lap.

“Don’t be shy, Quinnie,” Brittany smiled. “You want to draw with us? You can use my crayons.” Brittany held up a yellow crayon.

Yellow. The colour that Santana would learn to represent hope and friendship in the future.

“Okay,” Quinn nearly whispered, taking Brittany’s yellow crayon.

The girls drew for about ten minutes, while chatter from other children buzzed from all around them.

“Why do we call you Quinn?” Santana suddenly piped up. “Why not Lucy?”

Quinn made a face. “Lucy is a nasty name.”

Brittany and Santana laughed.

~

Twelve-year-old Santana was lying on the grass in Brittany’s garden, staring at the starry night sky. Brittany was directly next to her. Quinn didn’t turn up that day, because she had some kind of dinner with her family.

That night, the sky was clear, meaning that they could see the crescent-shaped moon and lots and lots of stars. It had rained the day before, meaning that the ground was soft as the soil soaked up the water, and there was a vague feeling of moisture suspended in the air, giving the cool night breeze a cool, minty petrichor. As Santana and Brittany’s backs were rested against the crispy flakes of grass underneath, they started to observe the map of stars above them, sometimes looking at them one by one individually.

This wasn’t the first time that the girls had gone stargazing. They loved it.

“It’s so beautiful,” Brittany breathed from her spot next to Santana. Santana internally thought _you’re so beautiful_ , but she didn’t voice that out loud. “It’s amazing how all these stars have different colours, and some are bigger than others, aren’t they?”

Santana turned her head to meet Brittany’s eyes, which was a deep ocean blue shade under the dark circumstances. “It is,” she agreed, voice barely higher than a whisper. “Look, we can see your star from here,” Santana pointed to a bright blue star up in the sky. Brittany scooted over, pressing her cheek against Santana’s to follow the brunette’s fingers so that she could see which star she was talking about.

“Why is that my star?” Brittany asked, curious.

Santana turned to look at Brittany again. “Because it reminds me of your beautiful eyes, Britt.”

Brittany blushed a little. “Well,” she drawled, scanning the night sky for a star that could represent Santana. “There,” she pointed to a red star quite far away. “That’s your star.”

It took Santana a short while to see which star Brittany was talking about. “And why is that my star?”

“Because red symbolises courage, and passion, both of which you have plenty of,” Brittany said reverently. “It’s beautiful. Just like you,” Brittany added.

Santana smiled coyly. “And look at that one,” she pointed to a bright yellow star, that was bigger than the rest. “That’s our star.”

“Our star,” Brittany echoed absently in awe.

“Yellow represents friendship, and we are best friends,” Santana grinned. “Also it is bigger than the rest of them, as the strength of our friendship is stronger than all the other measly ones out there.”

Brittany giggled. “What about Quinnie?”

“Don’t tell her I told you this,” Santana said mysteriously. “But you are my best friend, not her.”

Brittany sighed in contentment. “You are mine too.”

The two girls lay in the grass for another few moments before Brittany spoke again.

“Did you know that it would take years for the light of the stars to reach us?” Brittany said.

Santana raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really,” Brittany nodded. “They are so far away that it takes ages for the light that they emit to reach us. For all we know, they might not exist anymore. We are probably looking at a 100-year-old version of the star right now.”

“Wow,” Santana mumbled in awe. “You are so smart, Britt.”

“Ah, I’m not,” Brittany waved a hand shyly. “I don’t really get told that often.”

“It’s true,” Santana persisted. “You know all of these wonderful things that I don’t know. You’re a genius, Brittany.”

“Ah, yeah…” Brittany drawled, cheeks turning red again. The two girls laid there on the cool grass for a few more moments in comfortable silence.

“Um, Santana?” Brittany started tentatively. Santana looked at Brittany, but she wasn’t meeting the brunette’s eyes. She was fidgety and looked extremely nervous. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Santana replied, a little worried at Brittany’s behaviour.

“Um, ah,” Brittany blinked a few times, probably forcing herself to get the words out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while now.”

“Okay, fire away,” Santana said encouragingly.

That seemed to make Brittany even more nervous. She started to blush even more. “I, um, ah…” she faltered. Santana simply waited patiently for her to continue. “I-I really want to kiss you right now,” she finished, speaking really quickly. As soon as she finished, her face turned a deep red, and her eyes widened a little as if she couldn’t believe what just came out of her mouth.

“A kiss?” Santana whispered back, just to make sure. “Like… on the lips?”

“Yeah,” Brittany mumbled. Then she started to panic a little. “Don’t worry about it, I’m being silly,” Brittany tried to take her words back. “Just forget I said anything.”

“It’s fine,” Santana smiled. “Sure.”

“S-Sure?” Brittany stuttered.

Santana pointed to her lips. “Yes,” she whispered.

Brittany let out a nervous laugh. “Um, o-okay…” she scooted over so that the two girls’ faces were close to each other. “I don’t know how to do this…” she whispered, breath hitting Santana’s face. It was really pleasant.

“Me neither,” Santana whispered back. Brittany leaned in closer, and closer, trembling breath hitting Santana’s lips.

After what felt like an eternity, Brittany’s lips grazed lightly against Santana’s.

“U-Um… are you sure about this?” Brittany asked against Santana’s mouth.

“Yes,” Santana breathed back. That seemed to give Brittany a bit of confidence, as her face started to move even closer to Santana’s and their lips pressed more firmly together. Brittany and Santana both closed their eyes as she basked in the feel of each other.

To this day, Santana could still not describe how she felt when she felt Brittany’s lips on hers for the first time. It was… exhilarating. Amazing. Magical. Enchanting.

A few seconds later, Brittany pulled back and looked at Santana’s eyes nervously, biting her lower lip inside her mouth.

“Was… was that okay?” she whispered.

“Yes…” Santana mumbled back, still in a bit of a trance.

“D-did you feel…”

“Yes…” Santana mumbled again.

Brittany’s eyes darted to Santana’s lips again. “Can I do it again?”

Santana responded by closing the gap between the two girls again and latching her lips onto Brittany’s. Brittany let out a small sound from the back of her throat, and that made tingles go all the way down Santana’s spine.

After what seemed like an eternity of bliss, Santana pulled away.

“Wow,” Brittany breathed, a bit dreamily.

“Wow,” Santana parroted, a little out of breath.

Both girls started to giggle.

“I really like kissing you, Sanny,” Brittany said.

“Me too, Britt,” Santana replied.

The two girls leaned in again and continued to kiss innocently for a long time, while the cool night breeze stroked their backs, while the bright waxing crescent moon smiled down upon them.

~

Fourteen-year-old Santana was laying on her bed, Brittany by her side. She really enjoyed moments like this. Moments where the two girls would just talk. Santana felt so comfortable talking to Brittany, Brittany just seemed to get her. She was like a person where Santana could voice all her insecurities to Brittany, who would say reassuring or comforting things back, making Santana feel a bit better. Brittany was an excellent listener. She was so… caring, so kind, that Santana didn’t know what she did in life to deserve such a wonderful girl as a friend.

Santana didn’t really know where she stood with Brittany in terms of friendship. They kissed each other sometimes, although those times were far and few in between. Were they… girlfriends? Or just friends with benefits? Santana shuddered at the latter term. It sounded so… degrading. It wasn’t really a representation of what Santana and Brittany were. Their kisses were intimate. They were innocent. Friends with benefits didn’t really portray what Santana felt when Brittany’s rosy lips were on hers. It sounded… meaningless, when that was the complete opposite of what they were. With every kiss, every caress, Santana felt butterflies in her stomach, tingles in her spine, as she could bask in all of her senses, enjoy and share a part of her with Brittany.

On the other hand, the term ‘girlfriend’ sounded a little too far to Santana. It also scared her. Were they lesbians? Her family was really religious. If Santana was a lesbian, would they accept her for who she was? She didn’t even know if Brittany was a lesbian. All she knew was that they were really close friends who kiss from time to time.

As Santana moved into her adolescent years, she started to get some… urges. She didn’t know how she didn’t see it before. Brittany was incredibly attractive. Her lithe figure, graceful posture, absolutely gorgeous eyes. Santana was really attracted to her best friend. She really didn’t want this to happen. She tried to push those feelings down into the depths of herself, but they just came back stronger. She couldn’t help herself.

There were occasions where she would have increasingly indecent dreams of her best friend. It made her feel ashamed. She should never look at a person who had been nothing but the best person to her that way.

But she couldn’t help it. She had eventually admitted to herself that yes, she had a huge crush on Brittany, her best friend.

She may even go as far as saying that she was in love with Brittany. In retrospect, she probably was then. She just didn’t understand what being in love felt like, so she had just classified it as really strong attraction.

That night when Santana was laying on her bed with Brittany, she just couldn’t control her urges anymore. There was a slim chance that Brittany also wanted what Santana wanted. Santana thought that she would explode if she held on any longer. She needed to be brave and step out of her comfort zone.

“Um… Britt?” Santana whispered. Brittany turned her head to meet Santana’s gaze with the azure eyes that she had grown to love. They were so pretty. Santana could look at them all day, swim in them, get lost in them.

“Yes, Sanny?” Brittany said softly. She seemed to sense Santana’s nervousness, as she furrowed her brows a little in worry. She looked adorable.

“C-Can I ask you something? And promise that you won’t get mad at me?” Santana asked.

“Why would I get mad at you?” Brittany replied, her cerulean eyes turning a slight shade darker in worry.

“B-Because, um, what I’m about to say might change everything,” Santana mumbled.

“You’ll still be my best friend,” Brittany reassured her. “No matter what happens.”

“I’m not so sure…” Santana faltered.

“I’m sure,” Brittany smiled warmly. “What were you going to ask?”

Santana’s heart was pounding. This was the moment. “Can I, um, sleep with you?” Santana’s eyes flickered downwards, mentally preparing herself for rejection, humiliation, anger.

Brittany’s reaction was not what Santana expected. She laughed. “We already sleep together, silly!” Brittany scooted over and held Santana in her arms. “See? We cuddle at night when it’s cold!”

Santana’s face burned a little more at Brittany’s innocence. “N-no, Britt. What I meant was, um, the other sleep.”

Brittany frowned, confused. “Other sleep? What do you mean?”

“I, um, want to do, ah, things with you,” Santana whispered. When Brittany still didn’t understand her, Santana decided to just stop being ambiguous and come out with it already, like ripping off a plaster. “Can we have sex?”

God, that sounded so awful. What kind of question was that? Brittany is going to hate you now.

“Oh,” Brittany’s jaw slackened in realisation. “Oh,” she said again, starting to blush, turning a deep red. “I, um –”

“I’m so sorry,” Santana apologised profusely, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. I’m making things awkward between us. Can we just forget what I said? Please?”

“N-no!” Brittany stumbled. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself. “I’ve always wanted to have sexy times with you.”

“W-What?” Santana gasped. “Really?”

Brittany nodded bashfully. “I was never brave enough to tell you. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Britt, I will always be your best friend,” Santana said sincerely.

Brittany shifted a bit. “I’m so glad you asked me. I always knew you were brave. You’re my bright red star.”

Santana smiled and the two girls stared into each other’s eyes for a few fleeting moments.

“S-So… how do we do this?” Santana asked.

Brittany chuckled nervously. “I don’t really know, Sanny. I’ve never done this before.”

“Me neither,” Santana breathed back.

“I guess we can start by having sweet lady kisses and see where it takes us?” Brittany suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Santana whispered before leaning in and connecting her lips with Brittany’s. It was euphoria.

Santana remembered that it was raining on that day. Before that fateful night, Santana had always thought that rain acted as a mood-damper. But, as the two girls made love to each other for the first time to the constant, faint buzz of the raindrops hitting the floor, rain held an entirely different meaning to Santana from then on. Rain… was a symbol of what Santana and Brittany really were. It was so strong it was indescribable. A rainy day will always bring Santana back to one of the best days of her life. The day when she made the most intimate connection with Brittany. She was sure Brittany felt the connection too.

She remembered how it felt to have Brittany underneath her. She didn’t really know what she was doing then, but she started to learn as she started to do things that elicited a positive reaction from Brittany. At first, Brittany was really insecure with her body, but Santana made sure that it was worshipped and eventually Brittany settled down, relaxing. Santana felt a bit like a conductor, orchestrating different parts of the ensemble in front of her, which would evoke all kinds of harmonious melodies to come out of Brittany’s mouth. The little sounds that she would make were music to Santana’s ears. Brittany was a little embarrassed at how loud she got as she neared her climax, but Santana reassured her that it was perfectly normal, and it showed her that she was doing it right. When Brittany returned the favour, Santana was even louder. She just couldn’t help it. The way that Brittany made her feel was beyond words.

Their first time was not perfect, in terms of the technical parts of making love. Both girls were inexperienced and fumbled quite a bit. But, to Santana and Brittany, their first time was absolutely perfect.

Both girls lay panting in their bed, underneath the covers, for a long time afterwards.

Brittany looked over to Santana. “Um… was I good?” she asked, insecure.

Santana turned her head and smiled warmly. “You were amazing,” she whispered. Brittany smiled coyly and her cheeks pinked.

“What does this mean for us?” Brittany asked.

“What do you want it to mean?” Santana replied with a question.

“A-are we dating?” Brittany asked, somewhat fearfully.

“I-I don’t really want to put a label on what we are,” Santana started slowly. “But it would be amazing if I could call you my girlfriend.”

Brittany beamed. “Girlfriends.” She closed her eyes as the term rolled off her tongue.

Santana smiled back. “Girlfriends.”

~

“Brittany, please!” fifteen-year-old Santana begged as she chased Brittany into the toilet of the restaurant that they were eating at.

Brittany whipped around, glaring at Santana with fiery eyes that were normally so cool and collected. “What do you want?”

“Please! I beg you! I promise I will do it one day! You just need to give me time!” Santana pleaded.

Brittany laughed coldly. “Time?” she scoffed. “It’s already been one year. One year.”

“I know!” Santana rushed forward to take Brittany’s hand in hers. “Please! Give me one more chance!”

A few angry tears made its way out of Brittany’s eyes. “And how many chances do I have to give you? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? You always say that Santana, but you never follow through!”

“I know, I know! Britt, please, just one more! I promise!” Santana pleaded frantically.

Brittany’s eyes turned a different shade. It was darker, swirling with the depth of suppressed anger that she had felt but never let out.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Santana,” Brittany said coldly. “Do you know how much it hurts for you to introduce me as a _friend_? I thought we meant so much more than that!” Brittany choked back a sob. “I’m sorry, Santana, but I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be your secret fuck-buddy anymore.”

“Britt, you’re not a fuck-buddy,” Santana cried, that word like poison in her mouth. “You’re so much more than that to me! You’re my everything!”

Brittany chuckled mirthlessly. “Well, you’re doing just fine showing that,” she said sarcastically. “I don’t want to be your secret. You either be out and proud with me, or not have me at all.”

An ultimatum? No. Santana could not deal with that.

“Britt,” Santana tried to reason. “You know that’s not fair! You don’t know what will happen when I –”

“And I don’t care!” Brittany shouted back. “Am I not worth it? I thought that we could overcome anything together? That anything was possible?” Brittany scoffed. “I really thought that you were a brave person, Santana. Turns out that you are a coward, aren’t you?” With that, Brittany snatched her hand back as if she had been burnt and stalked out of the room.

Santana felt as if Brittany’s words had stuck a knife in her chest and twisted it. Her whole body hurt. She crumpled to the dirty bathroom floor, crying her eyes out.

***

Santana trudged back home dejectedly after the evening get-together had finished. Brittany had left without her. Santana felt her heart break all over again.

Brittany was her everything. She loved her so much. True, she hadn’t admitted that to her yet, because she was so scared. Does it make her a lesbian? Her parents will probably disown her. She will be known as the disappointment of the family. Her parents will be devastated. And… god, her abuela. She will hate Santana. Santana just knew it. Why couldn’t things be different? Brittany already came out as bisexual to her parents a while ago. Their parents were so supportive. Why couldn’t Santana’s parents be the same?

Santana didn’t really feel like doing anything that night. She just got changed and got straight into bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, as tears kept coming out. Eventually, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her body started to shake as she wept uncontrollably, shamelessly.

She didn’t know how much time had passed while she just laid there, motionless, exhausted.

When she felt a tentative hand on her shoulder, she jumped. “Go away, mum,” she mumbled, voice muffled into the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” a voice whispered. Santana froze. She could recognise that voice anywhere. She flipped, and through the blurry haze of her vision, she could see Brittany standing over her.

“B-Britt?” Santana gasped.

“I’m really sorry Santana,” Brittany mumbled, lips a bit pouted. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. They were mean, I didn’t mean it.” Santana didn’t respond, she just looked down, not wanting to meet Brittany’s eyes. Brittany stood there in silence for a few seconds before she walked over to the other side of the bed and laid down next to Santana. She flipped Santana around so that they were facing each other. “I know how hard it is for you,” Brittany whispered, then her eyes flickered down, cheeks blushing in what Santana perceived to be shame. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard, I’m so sorry. Please don’t break up with me?” she said nervously, her hopeful blue eyes flickered upwards to meet Santana’s again.

“I would never,” Santana replied. “Look, Britt, I know that I said that I would come out many times, but this time I will for real. I just, um, need to get myself together.”

“It’s okay,” Brittany said quietly. “Take all the time you need. I won’t force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“No, I have to,” Santana persisted. “It’s just that I care about you so much, you deserve everything in the world. How hard can it be? I’ll just tell my parents that I love you and if they’re not happy with it, then screw them.”

Brittany didn’t respond. She just beamed from ear to ear, looking into Santana’s eyes with pure happiness.

“What?” Santana asked, worried that she said something wrong.

“Repeat what you just said,” Brittany ordered, sounding really giddy.

“Um, I care about you a lot?” Brittany waited patiently for Santana to go on. “You deserve everything? I’ll tell my parents that – oh god,” Santana clapped a hand over her mouth and looked at Brittany fearfully.

“Say it,” Brittany whispered.

“T-That I love you?” Santana croaked. “Oh god, I’m sorry. Is that alright? Does that creep you out? Oh god –”

“Do you mean it?” Brittany asked hopefully.

Santana couldn’t meet Brittany’s gaze. Shyly, she nodded.

Brittany squealed in pure delight and surged forward, wrapping Santana in a bear hug. “Oh my god, I’m so happy! I’ve been waiting for you to say it for forever!” she peppered Santana’s face with kisses. “I love you too! I love you too!” she beamed, landing her kisses on Santana’s mouth this time.

Later that night, they made love. What was one of Santana’s worst days had become one of her best. She loved Brittany Pierce. She finally admitted it to herself, admitted it to Brittany. That was a step forward in the right direction.

~

“Brittany,” Santana said one day as they walked through the car park of the school, Santana slightly behind Brittany.

Brittany turned around. “Yeah?”

“Look, as scared as I am right now, I don’t want to hide anymore,” Santana stated. She then held out her hand. “Hold my hand?”

Brittany looked a little cautious. “Are you sure? People might see us, and you don’t want anyone to see us.” The last part of what Brittany said, to a stranger, may sound normal. After all, Brittany’s tone hadn’t changed at all. However, after all these years of knowing Brittany, Santana could read Brittany’s body language and the way she talks like a book. She knew that Brittany said that last part spitefully.

Well, that was going to be put to an end. Now.

“I don’t care anymore. Not being myself is making me unhappy,” Santana said, looking slightly upwards, straight into Brittany’s eyes. “I want to show you off. Make everyone jealous of what an awesome girlfriend I have. I don’t want to live under a mask anymore. If they don’t like it, then screw them.”

Brittany’s mouth opened and closed for a few seconds.

“R-Really?” she gasped.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” Santana said defiantly. “Hold my hand?”

“Ah!” Brittany squealed, bounding over and wrapping her arms around Santana in a tight hug. “Yay!”

They pulled apart after a while. Santana took Brittany’s right hand with her left. “Don’t think that I’m doing this because you are forcing me to,” Santana said sincerely. “I want to do this for myself too. This is who I am. I’m proud of who I am.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Brittany gushed, as they started to walk towards the main entrance of the school, swinging their conjoined hands together enthusiastically. “You’re the best person ever!”

“I love you,” Santana smiled.

“I love you too!” Brittany beamed. Then her face fell for a brief moment. “Wait does this mean that we can hold hands in corridors?” Santana nodded. “And we can carry each other’s books, walk each other to class?” Santana nodded. “Does that I can kiss you in school too?”

Santana leaned up and pecked Brittany’s lips. “Definitely.”

Brittany’s beam was so bright that Santana believed that it was brighter than the sun. “But aren’t you scared?”

“I’m going to be honest, a little,” Santana admitted. “But I don’t care. You are everything to me.”

Brittany did a few hops, probably because she had so much energy to burn right now. “You don’t know how happy you just made me.”

“I’m really happy too, Britt.”

It was true. That was the day Santana started to feel free. Feel like herself. Feel like she didn’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations. She was free, she was weightless, she had Brittany. She felt like she could take on the world.

~

Santana’s pillow was completely wet. She didn’t really know how long she had been lying in this bed, just reminiscing on the past. She wondered what the future held for her. She wondered how life would change without the two girls by her side. She wondered what senior year would be like without the glee club. As much as she hated to admit it, glee club had become her family. Would she be stuck with those stuck-up cheerleaders in senior year? Now come to think of it, she didn’t even want to stay in the Cheerios. She would probably quit.

Maybe distract herself with heavy work, make herself top of every class, graduate with flying colours, become a successful lawyer.

As for her future love life, well, she couldn’t really see herself with anyone but Brittany. It would probably be quite disrespectful to the blonde to find herself a new girlfriend. It would mean that Brittany was replaceable. Brittany was not replaceable. Her future love life would probably be non-existent.

She needed water. Her throat was really dry and it hurt. Maybe she should go downstairs and get some. Of course, she may come across Sam.

Everything will be fine, however. Santana looked down at the duck shirt she was wearing. Brittany will be watching over her. For Brittany. She looked over to the knife on the bedside table.

“You are my friend today,” Santana whispered. She held a tight, now practised grip on the hilt of the knife with her left hand. She walked over to the door and strode outside.

She didn’t bother closing the door behind her, let alone locking it, because she felt no need to do that.

***

Santana felt refreshed. There were no more bottles of water left in the pantry, so Santana settled from drinking straight from the tap. She didn’t usually drink from the tap, as she had been told that the water was not clean. But she couldn’t bring it upon herself to care at this moment in time. As well as drinking some water and moistening her throat and lips, she decided to wash her face and hair as well. Now she could’ve done this in the shower, but she couldn’t really be bothered to walk back upstairs, risking an encounter with Sam, as she didn’t find a point in doing so.

It was a nice, calm feeling as she felt the cool water cascade over her face. It felt… cleansing. Refreshing. When she finished, she gingerly rubbed her swollen eyes, and raked her wet fingers through her hair, brushing it back. Some wet strands of hair clung onto Santana’s face, but Santana simply removed them and tucked them behind her ear.

She looked at the knife placed on the counter. Sam probably had one too. But she would win.

Sam took everything that was good in her life. He took away Quinn. He took away Brittany. Adrenaline surged through Santana’s system. Waves of anger coursed through her. She had always known it was him. She should’ve taken him out while she had the chance.

She has a chance now. And she wasn’t going to fail.

Should she hunt Sam down? No. That would be silly. She would be playing right into his hands. She would wait for him.

He will come down. Eventually. Santana’s instincts will tell her what to do when the time comes. She gripped onto the knife.

Soon.

***

“I had really hoped that it wasn’t you, Santana,” Sam’s voice echoed from the staircase. “I don’t understand. Why did you kill everyone here?”

Santana snapped her head up from where she was sat at the dining table towards the voice. This is when Sam walked into the room.

He was unarmed.

What?

“What do you mean?” Santana demanded, standing up and grabbing onto the knife tightly. “What did you mean, _I_ killed everyone?”

Sam gestured towards the knife. “Look at what’s in your hand. You killed everyone. Why?” Sam’s voice didn’t seem challenging at all, which is not what Santana expected, what Quinn had told her. Sam seemed… defeated. Resigned. Disappointed.

“You lie,” Santana hissed. “This knife in my hand is for self-defence. This is the knife Quinn took. Quinn, the sweet girl that you harshly choked to death!”

“With my hand?” Sam chuckled dryly, using his right hand to hold up his left. “What you are saying makes no sense. I am in no condition to kill anyone. I am not in the right mentality to kill anyone. So answer me, Santana. Why did you kill everyone?”

“Sam, I didn’t kill anyone,” Santana made it as clear as glass. “I know for a fact that it wasn’t me. So, who else can it be? It doesn’t take Sherlock to figure that one out, Sam. You are the only one who is alive, other than me. If it’s not me, then it’s you.”

“Just shut up, Santana,” Sam said. “Just stop pretending that you aren’t the killer. I never killed Quinn. I never killed Brittany. What I don’t understand is why you would kill the two girls closest to you. I get that my time is up. You have the knife. I have nothing. I just want some answers before I die.”

The mention of Brittany’s name made Santana’s blood boil. How dare Sam, the _killer_ , accuse Santana of murdering her girlfriend, the person that Santana loved more than anyone else in the whole world?

“Stop playing the victim, Sam,” Santana growled. “I knew it was you from the start. You have this sob story of what your lovely family had become. You have no motivation to live. You got rejected by Mercedes, then Brittany. You just want to take everyone down with you, don’t you?”

“Well, it seems like I’m not going to get any answers,” Sam sighed. The two of them were quite some distance apart, maybe about five metres or so, but they were still dangerously close. Santana could just lunge forward and thrust the knife. Likewise, if Sam had something hidden in his sleeve or something he could easily attack. “So,” Sam held out his arms. “Are you going to kill me now? Or are you going to wait until tonight?”

Damn Sam. He was a pretty good actor.

He killed everyone, Santana reminded herself. He killed Brittany. He killed Quinn. He took everything.

He took everything.

Gather up all your energy, Santana. Summon your inner demons. Unleash all your hidden anger, at loss, grief, despair.

Let strength come upon you.

Time to play the killer.

“Yes, I am,” Santana hissed, voice dangerously low. “Only because you’ll kill me tonight otherwise.”

With incredible energy of someone who was supposedly exhausted and sleep-deprived, Santana left the table so that it wasn’t in the way. Instantly afterwards, she dived towards Sam, knife held loosely in her left hand, and just like she was practising, she swung the blade in a wide arc, heading straight for Sam’s head.

Sam had fast reflexes. Maybe it’s because of his time in the football team. Maybe because he was the killer. Santana didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Her fiery eyes were trained on one goal and one goal only: kill. Kill the person in front of you.

Sam dodged the knife swing by jumping backwards. The knife got really close to his face, nearly scratching it. But not close enough. The knife completed its arc without hitting anything, and since Santana put a lot of power under her swing, she lost her balance slightly, so she wasn’t able to defend herself fully when Sam grabbed a glass cup that was lying on the counter next to him and launched it towards the brunette.

Santana managed to dodge the cup itself, but it shattered on the ground just in front of her, sending shards of glass flying hazardously towards her. Most of them hit places that didn’t hurt that much, like her feet or maybe her calf, but one large shard flew high enough to cut Santana’s thigh. It tore through the leggings that Santana was wearing, cutting the skin underneath. It wasn’t that bad, however, thankfully. Also Santana was grateful that Brittany’s duck shirt was still intact. If it tore, then Santana would be so mad as it was one of the only things left that still had a piece of Brittany on it, however meagre, so it automatically held infinite value to the brunette.

It was a little strange to see Sam fighting back like this. Wasn’t he the one who was resigned to his fate, hoping for a ‘swift’ end? That obviously wasn’t the case. This meant two things. Sam was the killer, so he is going for Santana now. Or Sam was _not_ the killer and the primal instinct to do whatever it takes to survive is overtaking Sam’s system. That was really unlikely, however, because Santana could not think of anyone who killed everyone if it wasn’t Sam. Wasn’t everyone else dead?

Could it have been Mike, who just escaped, leaving the two innocent people to fight it out to the death in the end, so that he gets away with all he had done? It made sense, he gave Santana his knife because he didn’t need it anymore. Santana did not know how he escaped. Maybe he had the key to the gate and just left. Did he even escape? She knew that he did, from Quinn. Now come to think of it, Quinn was not a reliable source of information. She may have not even been real. What if he didn’t escape? Let the two of them fight and come back in for the final kill?

No. It could not have been Mike. He had really good intentions.

Could it be someone who she thought was dead already? Who could’ve faked their deaths? Santana could not think of a person. Maybe it was Finn? He died of poison, right? Maybe he faked it? But Santana could not imagine the dorky, uncoordinated giant killing everyone. He is physically incapable anyway. Could it be Kurt or Blaine? She never actually saw their dead bodies. Someone just mentioned that they died. Nah, they’re too pristine to kill anyone. Could it be Puck? She didn’t see his dead body either. Considering what he did to Brittany the day he supposedly died, Puck was not a bad shout.

Or could it be the ghost of Rachel Berry? Santana knew that this was ludicrous, but wouldn’t this be a very Rachel thing to do? She killed herself in the most disgusting way possible, then her ghost haunted the rest of them, finishing them off, because you couldn’t have a glee club without her?

Santana would laugh if it was Rachel who killed everyone.

Shut up, Santana. Your theories are getting more and more ridiculous. You are in a fight here. Sam will kill you if you don’t get yourself together, and fight back.

Yes, your legs hurt. But this is life or death. Kill or be killed.

Santana gripped her knife harder in her hand and straightened herself up. Sam backed away a few steps, then bolted from the dining room.

Against Santana’s better judgement, she chased after him. Sam ran off into the kitchen, so Santana ran into the kitchen too, brandishing her knife.

Santana couldn’t see Sam. She could swear that she saw Sam only a moment ago. Damn! She lost him. She spun around wildly, trying to gather where Sam went.

Suddenly, Sam appeared behind Santana and wrapped his right arm around the brunette’s neck, having her in a headlock. Santana grunted as her vision started to pale, kicking at Sam, who was behind her. She tried to thrust the knife that was still in her left hand backwards, hopefully impaling Sam’s stomach or chest. But Sam managed to get a hold of Santana’s left arm with his own left arm, preventing it from moving.

Santana struggled furiously against Sam’s hold. Sam just kicked the back of Santana’s knee and she crumpled to the ground. The knife clattered uselessly to the ground.

Was this the end? Sam was so much stronger than Santana. He wasn’t even using a knife. He was killing Santana, unarmed.

Santana managed to gasp one more breath of air, keeping her thoughts coherent. She needed to survive. She would not fall victim to Sam. She thought of the duck shirt that she was wearing. If not for you, do it for Brittany.

For Brittany.

With newfound strength, Santana thrust her elbow backwards, which connected with Sam’s solar plexus, making him double forward, effectively loosening his hold around Santana’s neck. Santana managed to claw her left hand in Sam’s hold and twist, so that Sam recoiled back, setting Santana free completely.

Taking this opportunity, Santana grabbed the knife that was lying close to her on the floor and rushed at Sam. He was slightly off balance, but he managed to dodge Santana’s strike by sending himself sprawling onto the ground. Santana spun around to face Sam and swung her knife downwards for the kill shot.

Time seemed to slow down.

Was Santana going to become a murderer?

Sam had other plans. With unbelievable agility, he rolled to the side so that Santana’s knife wedged onto the ground, right where Sam’s face was a second ago. Sam swung his legs around in a wide semi-circle, catching Santana’s foot and effectively tripping her.

Sam tried to seize this moment to take the upper hand. He stood up and tried to pounce on Santana, pinning her down. But before Sam could get on top of her, Santana swung her knife again and it hit Sam’s left arm.

Sam cried out in pain as blood started to roll down his already bad arm like a waterfall. It was so fast. So… red.

Santana got up shakily to her feet and towered over Sam, who was groaning on the ground, unable to get up.

“J-Just tell me why you did this, Santana,” Sam said, a few tears making its way out of his eyes. “Why did you kill everyone?”

“I didn’t,” Santana hissed. “I’m sorry.” Acting on impulse, and against her brain’s constant warning, she brought the knife down fast. It hit true on Sam’s throat.

Blood spurted everywhere in lots of different directions, some on Santana.

Santana clenched her eyes closed really tightly, as she couldn’t bear to look.

It was about a minute or so of pure silence, except for the quiet sound of flowing blood, before Santana dared to open her eyes again.

She only took a glimpse of what had become of the blond boy in front of her before she retched, vomiting straight on the floor. She didn’t care. She wasn’t going to clean it up. She had no energy.

Her chest started to heave as she took rapid, deep breaths. She just killed Sam. Did that make her a murderer?

She didn’t dare retrieve the knife that was still wedged in Sam’s throat. She ran out of the kitchen and upstairs, into the bathroom.

All she could see was red.

She was a murderer.

She is a murderer.

How on earth is she going to live with this for the rest of her life?

She jumped into the shower and turned it on as fast as she could, still in her clothes. As hot water soaked through the duck shirt she was still wearing and onto her skin, she started to sob.

What had become of her? She just killed someone.

She just killed a person. Someone that used to her friend.

She watched as the water started to turn more and more transparent from the initial deep red. She watched as the water swirled clockwise around the drain before being sucked in. Is this what was happening to her now? Being sucked in into a world of evil?

She couldn’t bear to wear her clothes anymore. She ripped them off her body as fast as possible, feeling hot water spray her bare skin.

I’m so sorry, Brittany, Santana apologised. I ruined your shirt. I know you really liked it.

I’m so sorry.

***

Santana got dressed in some of her clothes that she got from the closet. She didn’t deserve to wear Brittany’s shirt anymore. She didn’t deserve anyone. She didn’t deserve anything.

Not after what she had done.

She was a murderer.

She laid back on the bed that she had slept in so many times over the past week or so. Did she even deserve to live anymore? She had broken all morals that her parents have tried so hard to teach her all her life.

She did say that she wanted to see them again. Life was not over. She still had them.

But they didn’t have Santana. They have someone dressed in Santana’s skin. A ghost. A murderer.

Santana stared at the ceiling. What on earth was she going to do now? There was no one alive. She didn’t know how to get out.

She will die here of starvation.

Santana closed her eyes in pure despair until she heard something. She sat up, suddenly fully alert.

The sound of the front door opening, and banging shut.


	13. Day 11 Part 2

Santana got up from her bed, ears straining to hear more. However, she couldn’t hear anything. Was it a hallucination? Was she going crazy? She could swear she heard the front door open and close. She closed her eyes to focus more on her hearing.

She didn’t know how she was feeling. She doubted that she was hallucinating since she had never hallucinated before and had no diagnosed mental problems. She was feeling a bit scared, as there was someone else in the house. As far as she was concerned, no one else was alive, so she had no idea who was in the house. This person could either be someone who had come to save her, or is the actual killer, in which case Santana had killed an innocent person. The thought of that made her want to throw up.

Suddenly dread washed over Santana. She had an idea of who it might be.

Mike.

Mike was never killed. He just escaped. If he could escape, he could always come back in.

Oh god. How could Santana be so stupid?

Mike was the killer. He escaped when it was only him and two other people left, making her and Sam suspect each other, fighting each other to the death. Then, when one killed the other, Mike would swoop back in for the final kill.

Santana was screwed. She was going to die at the hands of Mike Chang.

She needed something to protect herself with. She tapped at her body, her pockets with her frantically for the knife, but she felt nothing. Then Santana realised that her knife was still wedged in Sam’s throat. She was defenceless.

But did Mike have anything to attack Santana with? He gave her his knife. Did that mean that he didn’t have one? Santana thought for a short moment. Two knives had been stolen. Only one was found. Santana assumed that the unfound one belonged to the killer. Did this mean that Mike had two knives? So he was able to give Santana one, and then he would still have one left?

Suddenly Mike’s note made sense. _Best of luck_. He was not just been referring to her fight to the death against Sam. He was referring to the inevitable fight against _him_.

Was that why Quinn was so hesitant in telling Santana who the killer was? Because she was betrayed? She really trusted Mike; she gave him the key to their room. Did Mike kill her?

But why Mike? What could his motive be? Mike was normally a very mild-tempered person, easy-going, calm, and collected. Santana could not imagine Mike killing anyone, let alone over ten people. It just didn’t seem to fit his character.

She desperately looked around her, in pursuit of something that she could use against Mike. She really wished that she had had the courage to pluck the knife out of Sam’s throat because then she stood a chance against Mike. But then she couldn’t have known that Mike was the killer. She had been so sure that it was Sam the whole time.

But what if it wasn’t Mike that was downstairs right now? Who else could it be? Whose dead bodies had Santana not seen yet? She never saw Puck’s, Kurt’s, Blaine’s or Tina’s. Maybe one of them faked their deaths? The most likely killer out of all of them is Puck. After all, he had attempted to kill Brittany on the day of his supposed death. What if the killer was Puck? It made a bit of sense. He invited all of them here to kill them all. And it was not too far a stretch to say that Puck went crazy and decided to kill everyone here. At least it was more plausible than Mike killing everyone.

Santana didn’t know whether she’d rather Mike or Puck be downstairs. Both of them were in the school football team, meaning that they were both really strong and would easily overpower Santana. Puck was more buff, but Mike had more skill, as he was a dancer. Santana didn’t really stand a chance against either of them.

She desperately rummaged through the shelves and drawers for anything that she could use. She couldn’t find anything that would do crippling damage to whoever that was going to attack her. She was going to die. Santana’s heart rate increased.

Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad. She would be able to see Brittany and Quinn again. If she made it out of here alive, she probably wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt of killing Sam anyway, who she had now deducted to be innocent. Hopefully, her death was swift. She really hoped that she wouldn’t suffer like Quinn did.

Her train of thought was interrupted as she heard quiet footsteps that gradually got louder and louder with every step. This meant that this person was walking up the stairs. With one last desperate attempt at protecting herself, she rummaged through the bedside table and luckily managed to find the keys to the room. She rushed to the door, slamming it shut and locking it.

Santana had never felt this scared before in her life. But realising that she was most likely going to die now got her heart pounding in her chest, cold sweat running down her neck, breaths getting short and rapid.

Was this how Quinn felt when she was taken by the killer? Cornered, helpless, petrified out of her mind?

Her vision seemed to pale as her pupils dilated, most likely from adrenaline and fear. What she could see also became a little hazy, but she could see the handle being turned. Luckily, the door didn’t open.

Santana was holding onto the wild hope that the killer would not be able to break in here. Or they would just assume that there was no one in this room and move on, leaving Santana alone in peace and alive a little longer. Despite what her heart is desperately trying to tell her however, her brain was being rational and realistic. The killer had overcome every obstacle. They could pick locks, take people out despite them sleeping in shifts. Santana didn’t stand a chance. Not by herself.

The door wasn’t even getting picked. Santana could only watch in pure fear as she heard the lock turning.

Then the door opened.

Time seemed to slow down as the door revealed more and more of the person that was standing behind the door.

The first thing that Santana saw was blonde hair.

As more and more of the person’s face was revealed, she widened her eyes. She instinctively took a step backwards. She stared at the person in front of her, making sure that her eyes were not deceiving her. The person seemed to be staring back into her mocha eyes intensely, with the deep cerulean eyes that Santana had loved for so long.

Brittany was standing before her.

Her cheeks were a bit pink, and she had a small bashful smile on her face.

Was this her ghost? Wasn’t Brittany dead? Wha – just how?

Against her better judgement, Santana rushed forward and threw herself against the blonde, engulfing her in a huge hug. At first, Santana was afraid that she would just go through Brittany, but her hands wrapped around warm flesh.

This was definitely Brittany. Santana could smell her scent on her. She definitely felt alive. Brittany started to hug her back.

She pulled back for a little bit and held Brittany at arm’s length.

“I-I thought you were gone,” Santana breathed, a few tears of happiness and relief making its way out of her eyes.

Brittany looked a little sad and her eyes were glazed. “I was never gone,” she whispered. Then she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, Santana.”

Santana never saw what was coming. Her whole world went black.

***

Santana’s state was a little difficult to describe. She was fluctuating between being awake and being unconscious. Imagine a calm ocean surface. This is what people are normally, dipping into the water occasionally under their own will. When they are submerged, they are asleep. When they are about to wake, their face pops out of the water surface, and they can go on about their day. When they are asleep they remain submerged under the calm surface, uninterrupted.

Now imagine some strong winds blowing upon the ocean surface, making tall waves. Santana was currently below the surface, as she was unconscious, but occasionally her head would pop up to the surface in the trough of the wave. She would be awake for a very brief moment before the peak of the wave pushes her back under again.

Her memory was really hazy as Santana dipped in and out of consciousness. They were disjunct. They didn’t seem connected. All Santana could gather was the sound of crying. Yes, a lot of crying. Also a little bit of incoherent speaking. Santana managed to pick out the words “baby” and “sorry” and “can’t”, but she couldn’t be sure.

She really wanted to wake up. She was screaming at her body to fight, pop her head up above the rocky ocean surface and stay there. But every time she managed to do that and gasp one quick breath of oxygen, the wave just sunk her back down. It was a perpetual cycle.

She was drowning. And she didn’t know how to save herself.

***

Santana groaned as she felt as if her heavy eyelids were glued shut. She couldn’t really open them, just yet. Her entire body felt so heavy. She tried to sit up straight from her rather uncomfortable position but quickly found that she couldn’t. She managed to shift herself into a slightly more comfortable position, though, thankfully. She felt some hair over her face. She moved her hand to brush it away but found that she couldn’t.

Santana’s eyes opened, eyebrows furrowing a little in confusion. She recognised this place. Why was she in the lounge? She turned her head left and right and found that she was against a wall. She tried to stand up but found that she couldn’t. She couldn’t move her arms. She couldn’t move her legs. She couldn’t move at all.

Confused and slightly panicking, she looked down at herself. She was completely bound in a chair against the wall. She couldn’t do anything. Her hands were roped together; they couldn’t move an inch. She didn’t know how to escape from this predicament. She had never been bound to a chair before in her life.

She had heard of people escaping from straitjackets before, but she felt that this was harder to escape from than a straitjacket. Whoever did this clearly knew what they were doing. The ropes clung painfully to Santana’s skin. Santana wondered if this would kill her. They had to be cutting off blood supply to certain places of the body, right?

Then she remembered one thing before she blacked out.

Brittany.

Was she just a figment of Santana’s imagination? Santana was pretty sure she wasn’t. Santana didn’t know how Brittany was alive, but she didn’t question it right now. Brittany could help Santana out, if she wasn’t also bound in another room, that is. The sheer thought of that made Santana’s blood run cold. Was Brittany in danger? Santana would not let anything bad happen to Brittany. Not when she failed to protect her the first time around. She struggled harder against the ropes.

After a bit of time and a lot of effort, Santana managed to make no progress.

“Brittany?” Santana called desperately, hoping for a response. “BRITTANY!”

Some rushed footsteps could be heard before the door to the lounge opened and Brittany stumbled in, face flushed.

“Oh Santana, you’re awake,” Brittany rushed over to where Santana’s chair was. She had a plate in her left hand. “Look, I made you some sandwiches,” Brittany whispered, holding out one with her right hand. “Are you hungry?” Brittany furrowed her brows slightly in worry.

“No, not really,” Santana replied. “Why can’t I move? What is happening?” Santana started to panic. “Are you alright Britt?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Brittany sighed and looked down, setting the plate down on the table next to her.

“Okay, thank god,” Santana said in relief. “Can you help me out?” Santana nodded to the ropes that were keeping her in the chair.

Brittany bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

Santana frowned. “Why not?”

Brittany closed her eyes and squeezed them tight. “Because I’m the one who tied you up in the first place.”

A few seconds passed in silence. “W-What? Why did you do that, Brittany?”

“Look, Santana, I have a confession to make,” Brittany sighed, looking like she was close to tears.

“What? You’re scaring me, Brittany,” Santana said, voice getting slightly louder.

Brittany reached behind her to retrieve two items. When she got them, she dangled them in front of Santana, making Santana’s blood run cold.

The knife and the mask.

“N-No,” Santana gasped. Brittany had a knife and a mask. Did that mean… that _Brittany_ was the killer? “Britt, tell me that it’s not what I think it is.”

Brittany nodded sadly. “It is,” her lower lip quivered and she tore her eyes away from Santana, unable to meet the brunette’s eyes. She then turned and put the knife and the mask gingerly on the table behind her. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Santana.” Her voice shook. “I’ll tell you everything, and I mean _everything_ , before it forces me to kill you. I-I don’t want to kill you, Santana. I didn’t want any of this,” Brittany sniffed, then buried her head in her hands and started to sob quietly.

Santana stared at Brittany in front of her, shocked, unable to utter a word. Brittany, the sweetest and happiest girl alive, the person that Santana loved more than anything in the whole entire world, is guilty of murdering about ten people? A million questions spurred in Santana’s head. What did Brittany mean by ‘it’ forcing her to kill Santana? How was Brittany even still alive? What? How? Why?

Brittany sniffed and wiped a few tears away with her sleeve. “Please say something?” Brittany whispered, leaning forward and brushing some hair away from Santana’s forehead and tucking it away from her ear. There was so much pain in Brittany’s beautiful blue eyes. “I don’t care what, Santana. I’ll tell you everything, I promise. Just say something, please,” Brittany closed her eyes and gulped. “Even if it is that you hate me now.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Santana stammered. “I…” Santana faltered, as coherent sentences failed to form in Santana’s mouth.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Brittany said again, looking intently into Santana’s eyes with her own glazed eyes.

Santana had a lot of questions. But the first one that came to mind was, “Did you kill Quinn?” Santana asked. Her tone was harsher and colder than she intended, but Santana didn’t care. Please say no, Brittany, please say no.

“Yes,” Brittany whispered. She started to weep again. “I did.”

“Why!?” Santana wailed, unable to comprehend what was happening right now. “Why did you do that? She trusted you! She confided in you!” Santana screamed, starting to get hysterical. She didn’t know if she was angry or not. Her emotions were so heightened, so confusing, that Santana felt like she didn’t know anything anymore. Her world turned upside-down and everything did a U-turn too many times over the past few days for Santana to keep track. “She told you that she was afraid to die! Why did you kill her? Why did you give her the most painful death? Why, Brittany, why?”

Brittany flinched at Santana’s screaming. “Please,” she whispered, a huge contrast compared to the volume of Santana’s screaming. “I regret everything I did. I can’t control myself. If I try I get punished.”

“W-What do you mean, _you can’t control yourself_? And what do you mean, you get _punished_?” Santana demanded, a tear making its way out of her eye. It wasn’t wiped away, as she couldn’t move her hands, and Brittany didn’t dare get close to Santana.

“Santana, I haven’t been telling you the whole truth,” Brittany started.

Santana scoffed. “Yeah, no shit.”

“I am not bipolar,” Brittany looked down in shame. “Well, actually I am a little, but that’s not the main reason why I have been taking my medication. I am severely schizophrenic. There are many things wrong with my head.”

“S-Schizophrenic? Brittany, why didn’t you tell me?” Santana cried.

“I didn’t know how,” Brittany said. “Sometime earlier this year, I started to hear voices in my head.” Brittany inhaled and exhaled deeply, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say what she was about to say next. “At first, they were kind. They were nice. I could talk to them. I liked it, actually. We would sometimes talk for hours when I was bored. We could engage in actual conversation.”

Brittany cleared her throat. “But soon, those voices started to take a dark turn,” Brittany continued. “They started to say bad things. Really bad things. They tell me to do things that I didn’t want to do. I didn’t know how to get them to stop. I tried shouting at them, begging them to stop, but they wouldn’t. They told me to kill Lord Tubbington.”

“No,” Santana gasped. “You didn’t,” Brittany loved her cat to death. Was that why Brittany stopped mentioning her cat towards the end of Junior year?

“I refused at first,” Brittany said. “I said that I was not going to do it, and they couldn’t make me do anything that I didn’t want to do. That was the first mistake I made. The voice in my head said that it was going to punish me. At first, I didn’t believe it. I just ignored it and went on with my life.”

Brittany inhaled sharply as if what she was about to say hurt her deeply. “The voice started to threaten me, saying that it would hurt me. I kept on ignoring it until it had enough. It punished me for the first time. It didn’t last long, like ten seconds maybe, but in those ten seconds, I have suffered the worst pain I felt in my whole life.”

Brittany shuddered. “The voice said that it was just a taster of what would happen if I didn’t obey it. It became my master. I lived in fear of being punished again.”

Santana didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to interrupt. This was clearly really hard for Brittany to say. Brittany closed her eyes and breathed in deeply a few more times before she spoke again.

“I killed Lord Tubbington the next day. I was crying the whole way through it. When I finally killed Lord Tubbington, I felt a new sensation. It felt… uplifting. Enlightening. It was really scary. I would never feel things like this by doing something so horrible. That was when I knew that the voice in my head was gaining power.”

“Eventually,” Brittany started to wheeze. “It was able to take control of me. The old me, the me that you loved, took a backseat while the new me started to dominate my body. The new me is similar in some ways to the old me, like both versions of me love you to death, we both have a passion for dancing, share some personality traits. But the new me is murderous. It is a psychopath. The voice, or should I say demon or monster inside of me got so strong and merged with my personality so fluidly that I could no longer identify what was me and the voice anymore. We became one person.”

Santana could not believe what she was hearing. This was too horrible, too haunting. This was sick.

“One day, I suddenly got the urge to kill people. I am really hoping that it was the voice telling me this, but I couldn’t tell, so I don’t know for sure. At first, I didn’t know who to kill. Then I got the urge to kill everyone in the glee club. However, I never got the opportunity. I didn’t want to get jailed or caught. So I waited. And waited. Until this opportunity, this vacation came up. I couldn’t have been happier.”

“The first few people, Artie, Finn, and Rachel, I killed were done with finesse. Because I wanted to try something new, something out of my comfort zone. I rigged the PlayStation so that Artie got electrocuted, as it made me feel smart. I poisoned a random drink and Finn got unlucky because I wanted to feel the adrenaline and the thrill of randomness. I slaughtered Rachel harshly because it was the demon inside me urging me on.”

“By the fourth night that I killed, which were Kurt and Blaine, something jolted inside of me. I think that it was the old me or something. But I knew that something wasn’t right. I would later realise that it was the old me fighting, fighting hard to defy the new me, and trying really hard to seize control. Night after night, I killed more and more people. I started to realise that the old me was starting to come back, more and more, stronger and stronger every night. By the time I killed Quinn, something changed inside me. I think it is the guilt of killing a close friend. I managed to kick the voice out, temporarily, and the new me disappeared, leaving the old me behind. This is when I fell back to where I was a few months ago. Just silly old me and the voice in my head.” Brittany gave a mirthless chuckle. “The voice still had power over me, however. It was still able to threaten me, as it could still punish me. But, Quinn was the last person I killed.”

To say Santana was shocked and surprised was a severe understatement. She was speechless. She didn’t know how to feel about all of this, she felt like she didn’t know anything anymore.

“S-So… how many people did the new you kill?” Santana whispered.

“Everyone that came here except Puck, you, Mike and Sam,” Brittany said gravely. “I killed eight people.”

Santana blinked back tears. How was this so messed up? “Which one are you right now?” Santana asked fearfully.

“I’m the old me right now,” Brittany smiled tearily. “I know that we are the same person in a way, but just so you know, the old me has never killed anyone. I would never. I’ve fought so hard against the voice so that it doesn’t take control again. It’s getting really close though, to taking control of me again. I just want to tell you everything before the new me comes back. If the new me doesn’t come back, the voice still can and will make me kill you, Santana, or it will punish me. I r-really don’t want to kill you, Santana.” Brittany started to sob again.

Santana sighed. She was just so confused. Should she let Brittany kill her, and spare Brittany from her punishment, or should she convince her to let her go and they could find help together? Brittany was being tortured by herself. Santana believed her. The Brittany she knew would never do any of this.

“Britt,” Santana said softly, and Brittany stopped sobbing momentarily. “I don’t blame you.”

“P-Please don’t hate me…” Brittany blubbered. “I-I don’t know what to do! I don’t know…”

It hurt Santana to see Brittany like this. She wanted to make one thing clear. Maybe ask her another question before anything else happened.

“Britt… I don’t hate you… at all,” Santana said slowly, and Brittany looked up into Santana’s eyes with a little sparkle of hope. “Tell me this, though. I really thought you were dead. Did you fake your death?”

“Y-yeah,” Brittany chuckled a bit, wiping at her eyes. “It was quite an ingenious idea, actually. I’m not proud of anything I did over the past two weeks, but given the circumstances, I was somewhat proud of this one. It made me feel really smart.”

“How did you do it?” Santana asked curiously.

“Well, I set up an ice-cold bath. Then I got in, with clothes and all, to make it seem like it was someone else who put me in. The point was to make my body temperature drop and my skin colour to take on a pale blue tinge so that it was believable that I was dead. I held my breath and submerged myself in the water when I heard someone coming. It happened to be you, Santana. You dug me out and I tried to stay completely still, and breathe as quietly and as little as I could. It broke my heart to hear how you reacted, Santana. I really wanted to just give up on my plan and just hug you and kiss you when you were just crying over me. But I didn’t want to be punished again, so I didn’t. Mike carried me out and threw me with the other bodies.” Brittany explained.

“I always knew you were a genius,” Santana somehow mustered a smile in these circumstances. “What happened to the bodies? When I took Quinn there they weren’t there anymore.”

“I moved them,” Brittany said. “I feared that someone would come and see my body missing. So I hid them in the garage.”

“S-So what did you do all this time? When I thought that you were dead?” Santana asked.

“I just hid,” Brittany mumbled. “Sometimes eavesdropped on you guys’ conversations. That’s how I knew that Mike was escaping and also I heard what you and Quinn said to each other when you found that I ‘died’. Quinn was such a good friend.”

“Yeah, she was,” Santana sighed.

“I’m so sorry, Sanny. I really shouldn’t have killed her.”

“Don’t apologise to me, Britt. Apologise to Quinn.”

Brittany nodded meekly.

Santana sighed. The two girls didn’t say anything for a short moment.

“I’m going to untie your hands, Sanny,” Brittany finally said. “They look really uncomfortable.” Brittany got up and started working on the ropes where Santana had her hands tied. It took a while for Brittany to finally do it, but when she did, Santana was able to move her hands again.

Her arms screamed in satisfaction and gratefulness at them being able to move again, and Santana shook them a bit to relieve the pain and tension that they had been feeling.

“Um, do you want some food?” Brittany asked tentatively, gesturing to the sandwiches that she made on the table. “I know that my food tastes horrible, but, um, I just thought that you haven’t really had anything to eat lately and you might want something.”

“Yeah, okay,” Santana sighed, and Brittany handed her a jam sandwich with a small smile.

“Do you want something to drink?” Brittany asked.

“What is there?” Santana said.

“Um, not much,” Brittany blushed. “But I can make you some fresh lemonade.”

“That would be nice,” Santana mustered up a small smile, and Brittany nodded, leaving the room.

Santana started to munch on her sandwich. Now that she was alone in the lounge, and still very much bound to the chair, she had a chance to process all that she had learnt just now. She didn’t even feel angry that Brittany was the killer anymore. She just felt… sorry for her. Brittany was going through so much pain right now. Obviously, that didn’t justify what she did, as technically it was still Brittany who killed all the people, but Santana didn’t blame her anymore.

Was Brittany going to kill her now? Santana didn’t really know what she wanted. She didn’t want Brittany to suffer even more pain by convincing her to not kill the brunette. But Santana also didn’t want to die. Not when escape and a future was just around the corner.

She could convince Brittany to let her go, and she would get Brittany help, and Brittany will eventually get better and the voice inside her head would leave. Then Santana and Brittany can get married and have a normal life.

Well, as normal as life could be, without Quinn, and with PTSD from both Brittany and Santana.

Brittany will feel so guilty for killing eight people. Santana feared that Brittany would not be able to live with it.

Brittany came back into the room with a glass cup in her hand. When she reached Santana, she gave her a small coy smile and held the cup out for Santana to take. Santana did, and when she took a cautious sip, she was surprised by how good it was. Then she realised that she could’ve just made a horrible mistake, fell for the oldest trick in the book.

“It’s not poisoned,” Brittany whispered as if she read Santana’s thoughts, looking a little hurt. “Don’t worry, Santana.”

Santana nodded and took another sip.

“Do you like it?” Brittany asked, insecure.

“Yeah,” Santana replied. It was true. Santana didn’t realise how thirsty she was until she had a taste of Brittany’s lemonade.

Santana watched Brittany in silence as she ate. Brittany seemed to be focusing on something. Her face looked conflicted as if she was arguing against herself. Judging by what Brittany just told her, that was probably true. She was her old self right now, the sweet, innocent one, and she is doing all she can to keep control from the demon inside of her.

Brittany’s face suddenly changed and she glanced up to meet Santana with a teary gaze. “I-I don’t know what to do, Santana. I really don’t want to kill you…” Brittany started to sob again. “I c-can’t… I won’t…”

Santana watched as Brittany continued to struggle. “No!” she shouted, to no one in particular. “I won’t! You can’t make me!”

A few seconds.

“Shut up! Shut up! No! You don’t get a say anymore!”

A few more seconds.

“Go away! Leave me alone! Please! I beg you!”

Santana didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how she could help.

Brittany was struggling right in front of her. Santana had never felt so helpless.

After a while, Brittany seemed to recover momentarily and she turned her eyes back onto Santana. “Tell me what to do, Santana.” Brittany pleaded. “Tell me not to kill you. Tell me that you want us to get out of here.”

Should she? The prospect of Santana getting killed was not very appealing to the brunette, but would Brittany get ‘punished’ again? It hurt Santana more to see Brittany hurt than hurt herself. But she shouldn’t succumb to Brittany’s demons just yet. Brittany was strong enough. She would hold them off while they go and get help. Brittany will be fine. Everything will be fine.

“Untie me, Britt,” Santana requested. “We can get out of here. You have the key to the front gate, right?” Brittany nodded. “We will get you help, Britt. You will be back to normal. Maybe sometime in the distant future, we can get married and start a family, just like you said. We can grow old together.”

“That sounds really good,” Brittany chuckled. “Are we going to have lady babies?”

“Lots of them,” Santana promised. “We will both have successful careers. We will get rid of your demons, the voices in your head. You can be a teacher and I’ll be a lawyer. We’ll have lots and lots of sexy times, okay?”

“That sounds amazing,” Brittany closed her eyes. “I really want to have a life with you, Santana.”

“Me too, Britt,” Santana whispered. “Me too.”

Brittany looked a bit apprehensive. “I’ll untie you, okay?”

Santana nodded as Brittany tentatively moved forward and started to undo the knots that tied Santana’s legs to the legs of the chair. Then she moved onto the ropes that wrapped around Santana’s waist. It did take a while, but eventually, Santana was free. Brittany took both of Santana’s hands with hers and helped her to her feet.

Suddenly, Brittany’s face turned into one of pure horror. “It’s back,” she whispered to Santana, voice panic-stricken, eyes wide. She saw the knife that was lying on the table. She quickly grabbed it and thrust it into Santana’s hand.

“Whatever happens, don’t get close to me, do not let me have the knife,” Brittany warned before she backed away and got as far away from Santana as possible in the lounge.

Brittany was curled up in a ball in the corner, hands over her ears. “Why are you doing this to me?” Brittany whimpered. Her back was turned to Santana, so the brunette couldn’t see the blonde’s expression, but she imagined it to be contorted in anguish and pain.

“Please stop!” Brittany howled. “Leave me alone! Please!”

Brittany paused. Santana guessed that this would be the time that the voice was talking to her. It was a bit like watching someone talk on the phone, really. There would be these pauses where the person talking on the phone would be listening to whatever the other one is saying. Santana really wanted to know what was going through Brittany’s head.

“You’re not real! Shut up!” Santana could see Brittany’s muscles tense. “You can’t make me do something I don’t want to do! Not anymore!”

Another few seconds. Santana didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to get close, she didn’t know what Brittany would do if she tried to help her. She was scared.

“No! Don’t hurt me! I beg!” Santana could hear the sob and sheer desperation in Brittany’s voice.

The next few seconds chilled Santana to the bone.

“Ah!” Brittany screamed. “Ah!” Her body uncurled and she was lying flat on her back. Santana could see Brittany’s face from here. It was completely scrunched up, and she could see beads of sweat on her forehead. “Stop! AH!” Brittany shrieked as her body started to writhe uncontrollably. “No! Please!”

Was this one of her ‘punishments’? How was it even possible for her brain to register pain that wasn’t there?

Eventually, Brittany’s pain seemed to cease. She laid on the floor, spent, panting, chest heaving, tears rolling down the side of her face. Santana started to move to get by her side and try and help her, but then Brittany started to scream again.

“No!” she shrieked defiantly. “I’m not killing Santana! I love her! No! You can’t make me!”

Then her punishment seemed to come again. Brittany’s gut-wrenching screams came again, and Santana started to cry at the torture that was coming upon her girlfriend.

After what seemed like an eternity, Brittany’s screams stopped and she lay there, gasping and weeping. She seemed to recover and sat up against the wall.

“Ugh,” she groaned. “It’s gone… for a short while at least…” Brittany seemed to be spending a lot of energy to speak. It was incredibly strange and upsetting to see Brittany like this.

Santana nearly sprinted to Brittany’s side and crouched down in front of her. There was sweat all over Brittany’s face, and a few wet strands of blonde hair clung to her face. Santana gingerly removed them and tucked them behind her ear.

“Please tell me how I can help…” Santana gasped, wiping the sweat away from Brittany’s face with her thumb. “I don’t know what to do…”

Brittany looked at Santana with tired, teary eyes. “Kill me, please…” she croaked.

“What?” Santana squeaked. “No! Brittany, there has got to be another way. We’ll get out of here, we’ll get you help, we can grow old together! Please…”

“No…” Brittany managed a sad smile. “It’s really, really mad at me,” Brittany sighed. “I’ve managed to make it go away, but it will be back soon. I can’t hold on any longer. It will just keep on punishing me. I don’t want to get punished anymore… it hurts so much…”

“Brittany…” Santana sobbed.

“It won’t stop until it’s satisfied…” Brittany said. “And that’s you dying, Santana. I don’t want to kill you… please save yourself by killing me… please, I beg you,” Brittany closed her eyes and a tear came out. “It’s my final wish Sanny… if not for yourself please do it for me?”

“Britt,” Santana choked. “There has to be another way. There must be!”

“No,” Brittany sighed, resigned. “Tell me this Sanny, do you still love me?”

“What kind of question is that?” Santana wept.

“I’m a psychopath, Santana. I killed eight people. All I do is cause people pain. How can you still love me?” Brittany gasped and she started to weep even louder. “Oh God, you don’t love me anymore. No…”

“Britt,” Santana cupped Brittany’s face with her right hand. “I still love you. I love you unconditionally. No matter how messed up anything is, I will always love you.”

Brittany blinked out tears and their eyes met in the most intense form of eye-contact that they had ever experienced. They felt like they were tethered with an invisible string, the string that will bind them close together for eternity. They were made for each other. They were destined for each other.

Brittany leaned forward and captured Santana’s lips in the most tender, and intimate kiss that either of them had experienced. All the emotions that the two girls were feeling were put behind the kiss, the love that they had felt for each other that lasted for so long that it started before they even knew love was, all the history that had transpired between the two girls, all the ups and downs were put into the kiss, and Santana was sure that she had not felt anything this powerful before.

The kiss didn’t last long enough for either girl’s liking. Brittany pulled away, and with a tearful smile, reached for Santana’s left hand.

Santana didn’t know why Brittany was doing that, but she realised that she had made the biggest mistake of her life when she still had the knife clutched in her left hand.

Brittany grabbed Santana’s wrist, lifting it, and thrust it straight into her stomach.

Brittany let out a strangled cry as the knife penetrated through her abdomen, making so much blood come out.

“No!” Santana cried as Brittany’s blood started to soak her shirt. “Brittany, why?” Santana didn’t want to take the knife that was still wedged in Brittany’s stomach out, as she had heard that it would damage the wound even more. Also, the knife could act as a barrier to stop the blood flowing. Her mind racing to the first aid that she had been forced to learn when she was younger, she took off her shirt and instantly pressed the fabric onto Brittany’s stomach, trying desperately to stop the torrent of blood that was flowing out like a waterfall.

Brittany’s breathing became short and ragged. “No, San,” she gasped, wincing as Santana pressed the fabric to her abdomen. “It’s n-no use.” She then squeezed her eyes shut, face contorting in pain. “Oh, God.”

“No…” Santana cried loudly. “Britt!” Her voice cracked. “No… we can still get out of here, Britt. Just, um, hold on, okay?” Santana tried her best to not sound hysterical, but she was failing badly. “I’ll get you help, okay? You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“It’s okay, San,” Brittany croaked. Then a wave of pain seemed to hit her and she winced again. “I deserve it.”

“No!” Santana shouted. “Do not say that Brittany Pierce! You do not deserve it! You do not get to die on me! Fight! Come on, don’t you want to live?”

“I d-don’t deserve… to live,” Brittany wheezed, losing energy with every passing second. “P-Promise me that y-you will live your life… become a lawyer… the world’s h-hottest lawyer…” Brittany chuckled a bit, then coughed out some blood.

“Britt…” Santana sobbed.

“W-We won’t g-grow old together in this life, Sanny…” Brittany smiled softly. “Maybe in… another one…”

Brittany’s eyes closed for a short while, and Santana panicked.

“No! Wake up! Brittany!” she shook Brittany’s shoulders violently.

Brittany opened her eyes wearily again. “P-promise me… y-you will find love… forget me… live y-your life…”

“Britt…” Santana sobbed.

“Promise me,” Brittany persisted.

“I p-promise…” Santana said reluctantly. Brittany closed her eyes for a second or so, then opened them again, just barely.

Brittany coughed weakly, some blood coming out of her mouth. “T-Tell me you love me… one l-last time…”

“I love you, Brittany,” Santana said instantly, weeping, voice shaking tremendously. “I love you so much…”

Brittany seemed satisfied with that answer, for she gave a smile that reached her eyes. “M-may we meet again, Santana, in a-another life. I love you too…”

With that, Brittany’s eyes closed one last time and her head slumped to the side.

“N-no,” Santana choked, shaking Brittany’s shoulders again. “Wake up! God, please wake up!” Brittany limply shook from side to side, not responsive at all. “No!” Santana whimpered. “No! Brittany! Brittany…” Santana’s voice trailed off as she broke off into uncontrollable sobs. Santana grabbed Brittany’s shoulders and hugged her close, Brittany’s head resting on the brunette’s shoulders.

Santana continued sobbing, stroking Brittany’s back with her right hand, Brittany’s long, luscious blonde hair with her left.

***

Santana lowered Brittany’s body gingerly into the large hole that she dug in the back garden. She planted one last kiss to Brittany’s lips, then started to shovel the soil into the hole, gradually covering Brittany’s body, layer by layer.

It took Santana quite a lot of effort, to dig the hole and bury Brittany completely, but it was completely worth it. Brittany was worth everything to Santana.

“Rest in peace, Brittany,” Santana whispered, placing a single white rose above the now covered hole in front of her. “A lively and innocent soul, taken too early.” Santana wiped a tear from her cheek. “Thank you so much, for teaching me to be brave. Teaching me to be myself. Teaching me how it feels to love. I love you so much, Brittany. You will always live on in my heart.”

Santana took a deep breath, then stated with the most reverence and respect:

“I promise you that I will live my life.”


	14. Epilogue

**SUSPECT PLED NOT GUILTY UNDER MURDER CHARGES**

36-year-old Charles Hansen, accused of murdering his wife, was pled not guilty to all charges against him which include first-degree murder, malice murder, and felony murder on Tuesday, 14 March 2023.

He was formally charged in court in Boston, Massachusetts on Monday, in a trial that lasted two days, after being held in confinement for three months prior.

He was accused of murdering his 34-year-old wife of three years, Emelia Hansen (née Lynch), with a lethal stab to the throat with a kitchen knife. Police examined the knife at the crime scene and were able to test the DNA upon it, which traced back to Mr. Hansen.

Further evidence, such as text history, search history, and the testimonies of friends have piled against the suspect, making most believe that he was guilty.

Charles Hansen denied all charges against him.

Charles Hansen’s attorney, 29-year-old Santana Lopez had delivered her defence for the suspect ‘flawlessly’ and with ‘great composure’ in court on the day of the trial. It is said that she had found many ‘mistakes’ and ‘errors’ in the evidence that was in the police’s possession. She was able to point out various mistakes made in the process of the examination and collection of said evidence, as well as find many holes the police have done in the investigation.

The fight between the plaintiff and defendant’s lawyers was a ‘spectacular show’, witnesses in court say.

The plaintiff’s lawyer, Scott Steele, is one of the most respected and expensive lawyers in the whole state of Massachusetts, so his defeat to the up-and-coming, young lawyer Miss Lopez was a huge surprise to all.

It was at 15:30 on Tuesday that Mr. Hansen was pronounced not guilty.

“It is not something to be ecstatic about,” Miss Lopez remarked in an interview afterwards. “I was simply doing my job.”

When asked what inspired her to take on this career path, Miss Lopez replied, “Law has always interested me. When a tragedy struck twelve years ago, I was more than determined to make it to the top.”

Attorney Santana Lopez is rapidly gaining recognition and status as she successfully defended her client ‘against all odds’ and with ‘flawless technique’.

Miss Lopez is currently preparing another case for the murder of 22-year-old Kirsten Harrington.

More information on this case to be revealed in the future.

 _-Mike Chang_ for _CNN._

***

“Santana!” 11-year-old Santana quickly threw her school shirt on as her mother screamed at her. “You’re going to be late! AGAIN!”

“Alright! I’m coming! Jeez,” Santana shouted back as she finished putting on her school uniform and ran out of her bedroom.

“God,” her mother chastised as Santana made her way into the dining room. “You are going to be late! On your first day as well! Of middle school! I can’t believe you.”

“It’s fine,” Santana mumbled, wolfing down cereal rapidly spoon after spoon, trying her best to not get any milk on her shirt. “I will be on time.” She held up her watch. “See? I have twenty minutes. I can get there in ten.”

“You better,” her mother frowned. “Quinn is already outside waiting for you.”

“Is she?” Santana started to eat faster.

“Yes. She’s such a well behaved and organised girl. Sometimes, I wish you could learn a thing or two from her,” her mother said.

Santana rolled her eyes and grabbed her backpack. “You always say that,” she grumbled. “All right, I’m off.”

As Santana opened the door, letting the strong autumn wind whip her in the face, her mum shouted after all one last time as she walked down the porch.

“Take care! I love you!”

Santana didn’t feel the need to respond, so she didn’t say anything. She opened the small gate that connected her front garden with the pavement, walking up to Quinn who was waiting patiently.

Quinn was Santana’s best friend. They met in elementary school and at the beginning, they had a bit of a love-hate relationship, sometimes bickering over small things that seemed silly later on, sometimes having a bit of a rivalry. But then they got over their differences and they became best friends ever since.

“Looking forward to your first day of middle school?” Quinn smiled as she fell in step with Santana, starting the short walk to school.

“It’s literally going to be the same thing,” Santana groaned. “Same stuff, same teachers, same people…”

“No, I heard that there will be a few new people coming in,” Quinn informed. “Maybe you could use some more friends, Santana.”

“I don’t need more friends,” Santana rolled her eyes. “I’ve got you already. Besides, friends are just a hassle. They pester you and they disappoint you.”

“Don’t say that Santana,” Quinn chastised. “Maybe if you weren’t so antisocial people may actually like you.”

“You are people, aren’t you?” Santana raised an eyebrow.

“I never said I liked you,” Quinn said. Santana simply stared her down and Quinn gave in. “All right, I was kidding, you’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend too,” Santana smiled.

“Yeah, that’s because I’m your only friend,” Quinn pointed out. Santana slapped Quinn’s arm playfully.

“Whatever,” Santana grumbled. “So, you know anyone new coming in?”

“Nah,” Quinn waved her hand. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there. Who knows, you may actually like them.”

“Unlikely, but I’ll keep my eyes open to all possibilities,” Santana replied.

The two girls walked in quiet for a short moment, just staring ahead and the occasional sound of cars driving by the neighbourhood distracting them.

“So, what did you do this summer?” Santana asked, just wanting to make conversation. It wasn’t like she felt awkward walking next to Quinn in silence. Santana was curious, and besides, she liked talking to Quinn. She didn’t like talking to people in general though, so maybe that’s why she and Quinn were such close friends.

“Not much,” Quinn answered. “I did go to Miami with my family for a week though. What about you?”

“You know my family, my dad is always busy. Actually, I don’t think I saw him much at all over the summer, he’s always working. So, yeah, I didn’t go anywhere.” Santana said.

“That’s too bad,” Quinn said. “Maybe we should have met up more over summer.”

“Yeah, we probably should’ve,” Santana replied contemplatively.

Another few seconds in silence.

“You think that we’ll be in the same class?” Quinn asked.

“Hopefully,” Santana looked over and gave a lopsided smile. “I don’t know how I can stand a whole year of degenerates in my class if you aren’t in it.”

***

“Ugh, I haven’t been in middle school for five minutes and I already hate it,” Santana grumbled as she trudged along the school corridors with Quinn by her side.

“Why are you such a downer, Santana?” Quinn reprimanded. “Do you not like school that much?”

“No, not really,” Santana shrugged.

“Hey, at least we’re in the same class,” Quinn said. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah, and my locker is at the bottom corner right next to the toilets!” Santana shot back hotly. “The _boys’_ toilets! It reeks all the time, and I have to crouch every time I try to get stuff from my locker! I’m not happy.”

Quinn laughed at how Santana was pouting petulantly. “It’s not that big of a deal, you’ll get used to it,” Quinn chuckled. “All right, let’s get to class. Apparently, we have to go to this room…” Quinn squinted to read what was on the paper clutched in her hand that they got from reception. “Um, room 105. That’s where we have to go every day before class begins, I think.”

“Great,” Santana said. “We’re literally there anyway.” Santana pointed at a room on the far side of the corridor.

When the two girls made their way into the room, what was on the board made Santana groan again.

“Seriously?” Santana gritted her teeth. “We have a _seating plan_?”

“Well, this is middle school,” Quinn pointed out. “You can’t expect everything to stay the same.”

“This is not good,” Santana grumbled. “At least they could let us sit next to friends when the teacher is droning about things that we’re not even interested in.”

“Which is why you should be actively trying to make friends,” Quinn said. “You only have one friend. The odds of you sitting next to your one friend is not very high, is it?”

“Shut up,” Santana groaned. “Let’s see who’s next to you, then, shall we? If you’re so popular then you should be next to a _friend_ , right?”

“Good idea,” Quinn said simply, ignoring the bite in Santana’s voice. Her hazel eyes raked across the board, trying to see her name on the seating plan.

Santana spotted her name before Quinn did. “Ha! You’re next to Trouty Mouth!” Santana laughed. “Have fun.”

“Hey, Sam’s not that bad,” Quinn argued.

“Yes he is,” Santana snickered. “He’s such an idiot! He does the worst impressions! You’re going to have to help him so much! He’s going to copy you on every test! Ha!”

“Let’s see who _you’re_ next to, why don’t we?” Quinn scowled, scanning the board. Eventually, she saw Santana’s name. Her seat was not that far from Quinn’s, thankfully. It’s not that Quinn needed Santana to be close to her. It’s that she thought Santana needed Quinn sat close to her, for Santana’s sanity.

Santana saw her name as well. “I’m next to _Brittany_ ,” Santana scowled. “Who the hell is that?”

“I don’t know a Brittany either, Santana. I think that she’s new.” Quinn said.

“Who names their child _Brittany_? That’s like a super old name, like something from the nineties. Not even the 2090s. Like the _1990_ s.” Santana made a face.

“Santana, that’s mean,” Quinn chastised. “She didn’t choose her name. For all you know, she might be your bestie for life.”

“Nah,” Santana swatted her left hand. “Let’s hope she’s tolerable.”

“Hopefully,” Quinn said, as they made their way to their seats.

When they reached their seats and sat down, Santana whipped around and saw Quinn giving an unamused look while Sam just kept talking to her animatedly. “Quinn!” she hissed. Quinn pushed on Sam’s face with her hand so that he was no longer intruding on her personal space. She looked up and met Santana’s eyes. “I don’t think she exists! It’s one minute to class and she’s not here yet!”

“Maybe she’s late!” Quinn hissed back.

“On her first day in a new school?” Santana snickered. She was happy that there was no one next to her. She may actually have some peace.

“Maybe the traffic is bad,” Quinn suggested. Suddenly her eyes focused on something past Santana’s shoulder and she frowned a bit.

Before Santana could turn her head and see what Quinn was looking at, she felt something bump harshly into her back. This made the pencil case that Santana was holding in her hands drop, and all the pens and pencils spilled out onto the floor.

Furiously, Santana whipped around. “What the hell? Look at where you’re… Woah.” Before Santana stood a blonde girl with long hair. Her face was flushed, probably from embarrassment, and she looked nervous and flustered. She had really beautiful blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” the girl said quickly. “Look, I’ll help you,” she bent down and started to pick up some pencils.

“No, it’s okay,” Santana put a hand on the blonde girl’s shoulder. The girl stopped and looked straight into Santana’s eyes worriedly. “Are you Brittany?”

The blonde girl nodded. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit clumsy, really, I can help you pick up the pens –”

“Don’t worry about it,” Santana said, scooping up some pens on the floor and throwing it back onto the pencil case. Within no time, all items in her pencil case were restored. “See? Done.”

“Okay,” Brittany whispered, and she settled down in her seat next to Santana.

“Why are you nearly late on your first day?” Santana asked the blonde.

Brittany looked a little embarrassed. “I actually got here half an hour ago. I got lost in the school halls. It’s like a maze!” she enthused. “I was going around in circles not knowing where I was going for ages.”

Santana laughed. Normally, if Brittany was any other person, she would berate them and try to get rid of them, as she would want nothing to do with them. However, with Brittany, Santana is strangely getting drawn in. She wanted to be her friend. For whatever reason Santana didn’t know.

“Well, it can be a bit difficult to get around, especially when you don’t know the place,” Santana replied. “I could give you a tour at break time?” Wait. What on earth was Santana doing? She doesn’t give up her time for anyone, except maybe for Quinn, and especially not for eccentric people like Brittany.

“That sounds great,” Brittany smiled and Santana felt a new feeling that she had never felt before. It was weird. She felt as if her heart melted. She knew that it wasn’t possible, but she couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. She would do anything to see her smile again.

“Santana!” Quinn’s voice broke her out of her stupor.

Santana whipped around angrily. “What?”

“Two things,” Quinn smirked. “Number one, congrats! You made a new friend!” Quinn did a mock cheer, much to the annoyance of Santana. “Number two, why do I feel like I’ve seen that girl before?”

“Really?” Santana mumbled, eyebrows slightly furrowed, turning back around to look at Brittany. Brittany turned to look at Santana at the same time, and their eyes locked.

Quinn was right. Brittany did look a bit familiar, but Santana couldn’t place where she saw her before. It was like something that was at the back of her head that she just couldn’t dig out, annoyingly.

“Brittany, you look a bit familiar,” Santana frowned. “Have we met before?”

Brittany’s eyes shifted upwards towards the ceiling as she thought for a short moment. “I don’t think so,” she replied. “But you look kind of familiar too.”

“Hmm, strange,” Santana mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s like some information is stuck at the back of your head and you can’t get it out. It’s a bit frustrating.” Brittany said.

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Santana smiled. Brittany smiled back and Santana’s heart melted again.

She felt a vague sense of déjà vu.

She had a feeling that her friendship with Brittany will be one that lasts a lifetime.


	15. Q&A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is to give you guys a better understanding of the story. This contains spoilers, so don't read if you are planning to read it but haven't, unless you want to spoil it for yourself of course.  
> I just realised that I have posted this on FF but not on here, so I'll post it here so that it isn't unfair for readers on AO3.

**Why was Sam so suspicious?**

Sam was all weird at the beginning because like he said in Day 4, he was suffering from minor depression, freshly rejected by Mercedes (which is why Mercedes is sometimes seen staring at them from a distance or observing) and trying to hide his unrequited crush on Brittany. However, as the story went on, he became much more stoic (as he started to compartmentalise his feelings) and composed, meaning that he had very calm reactions to finding dead people, which became creepy. He was really excited to find the bloody shirt in Day 6 because he thought that he had caught the killer. He may have seemed even more suspicious as he had limited scenes as the story became Unholy Trinity centric, along with Santana constantly believing that it was Sam who was committing the murders.

**Why was Quinn so suspicious?**

She has a huge bacon addiction. So she would sneak around, trying to get as much bacon as she could, until the bacon ran out. She got the knife because she was genuinely scared for her own safety. She practises holding it and using it at some point (which makes her even more suspicious) because she has never used a knife before as a weapon and doesn't want to be useless when the time comes to defend herself. She loves her life, and it is mentioned many times how much she wishes to find love in her life and how much she wanted to make it out alive. Her constant worrying (such as the beginning when she thinks it was out of a horror movie) may have been considered as a façade to hide her murderous behaviour, but in reality she was just scared for her life. She is an actual sweetheart in this story.

**Why was Brittany so obvious at the beginning?**

The 'new Brittany' was too eager to get started and kill people. While she manages to conceal her identity as murderer quite well throughout the story, at the beginning she went headfirst into the preparations such as scouting for escape routes and nicking keys and didn't really know how to keep herself from being suspicious. As the story went on, the 'new Brittany' became much more experienced and was able to act her way out of suspicion and avoid getting caught or disappearing.

Also, it was an idea that I had to make her almost too obvious to be suspected. Like I'm giving it away right from the start. So, the suspicion is turned away from her. It kinda worked… not really you all thought it was Brittany so I toned it down, but kept up the little subtle hints like "Tina you're just… Tina" in the Killer POV when this is actually a line Britt said in 4x22.

**Who was the second killer?**

It was Sam. He killed Puck because he genuinely thought that it was him, as he invited them all here, had all the knives and assaulted Brittany on Day 6. He didn't want to believe that it was Brittany, despite all the evidence mounting against her towards the beginning, as she was his crush, and he would never kill her anyway. He didn't want to kill Mercedes either, because he still had feelings for her. He didn't kill Quinn or Santana or anyone else because he didn't suspect them at all.

**Who had the knives and at what time?**

Brittany took the first knife. That was the one that was never found. Quinn took the second knife, which was later taken by Mercedes' group. That knife went from Quinn to Mercedes to Tina to Mike and eventually to Santana. Sam didn't have a knife so he killed Puck by glassware.

**What happened to Mike (and Santana) between the last chapter and the epilogue?**

When Mike saw Brittany, he got scared so he bolted off into the woods. It took him the remainder of the night, but he managed to make it back on the main road and got a ride back towards where he lived. Just so you know, the person who gave him a lift was not malicious, just a middle-aged woman who wanted to help a boy lost at night. When he got back home, he called the police and got help. The police found Santana alone in the house and an investigation was carried out. Under Santana and Mike's testimonies, Brittany was deemed the killer (for all kills including Sam even though Britt didn't kill Sam), and Santana and Mike were sent to therapy. It took them a long time, but eventually they got better. Santana and Mike graduated with flying colours as they both took heavy work as a coping method. Mike became a journalist and Santana became a lawyer.

**How did Brittany manage to fake her death?**

This was already touched in Brittana's dialogue, but I will explain a bit more.

Since there were already so many deaths, the then survivors weren't exactly surprised that there had been another murder. Seeing Brittany submerged and really cold led them to the assumption that she was dead, so without close inspection she was tossed with the other deceased.

Brittany faked her death by reducing her body temperature by submerging herself in ice cold water. When she heard someone (who happened to be Santana) come, she held her breath and dipped her head back into the water. She held her breath to the best of her ability when she was getting carried to avoid people finding out that she was still alive.

A hint for this in subsequent chapters is that her teeth constantly chatters.

It was very risky, and Brittany was very cold, but it worked!

**Why was she speaking to herself in third person in the Killer POV then?**

It is for readers to believe that she was dead. If it was written in a different format then it would be very obvious that she was the killer. Although, there are a few hints that state that it was her talking to herself. I feel the most important one being:

" _I'm really sorry, Brittany. You had a good run. I really liked you. You don't like me back."_

She used the past tense to describe her really liking herself because it was true. Before all her mental problems became an actual problem she really enjoyed life, she had Santana, she had a great family. She uses the present tense to say that she doesn't like her back because she doesn't like her present self, a murderer, a killer. So, this hints at self-loathing at what she had become. She addresses herself by her name because she is apologizing to the past Brittany, the carefree, innocent one.

I felt that line was significant as this directs more suspicion towards Sam, as he had unrequited feelings towards Brittany. This, to readers, would be a big hint as to who the killer was, but in fact it was just a huge red herring.

**Did I change the storyline at any time when I was writing?**

I plotted this story completely before I started writing. So, no, I did not change the storyline at all, and I was not affected by reviews at all when I was writing in terms of plot. So, yes, I had planned it to be Brittany all this time. I thought that it would be interesting as Brittany isn't usually someone who is interpreted as someone who kills, or have mental problems in general. Although I did add a few parts into the story as new ideas popped into my head, such as I was going to kill Kurt and Blaine separately but I ended up killing them up together, or Santana having that trip down memory lane, or her having a dream of Quinn in Day 11.

**What was the writing process like?**

A little like the previous question, I had the general plot done before I started to write. I first got a list of all the glee club members, then decided who was going to die when and on which Day. I decided early on which twists I'm going to put, such as the second killer (who is Sam just in case you don't know) going for Puck, and Brittany coming back to life (because she faked her death). I don't plan out each and every detail of each chapter, I kind of either bullet point out what will happen in the day, or if I'm feeling intuitive I go with the flow.

But planning was really important because this is a mystery so I have to put in clues, which meant that I had to have a clear understanding of the future of the story.

So in conclusion, did I plan it all out or wing it? Maybe 60/40.

**Which death did I find the hardest to write?**

By far, Brittany's. The one from the Killer POV. Since she wasn't actually killing herself, I had to be very careful to make it seem like she was dead, but if you read it carefully you could tell that there was a chance that she didn't die. I think that a few of you picked up on that, actually. Also what was really hard was the narration in the Killer POV. Since Brittany and the Killer are the same people, it is hard to provide a convincing narration while if you read it back, it could pass as Brittany talking to herself. I think I included in the AN for that chapter that I found that chapter hard to write because of writer's block. That actually wasn't the case. Britt's fake death was just difficult to write in general.

But Britt's death wasn't real. So for an actual kill made by the killer in the Killer POV, I'd say Quinn's death. I also had the most fun writing that, funnily enough. Maybe it's my inner sadism showing, I don't know. But, yes I did find Quinn's death a little hard to write.

Other deaths that I found hard to write was ones that I had to choreograph, like Mercedes', Tina's and Sam's. Peaceful deaths like Finn's, Kurt and's Blaine's were pretty easy, as I could just pretend I'm the killer and write my thoughts on paper and pass it off as Killer POVs. Which is why I enjoy writing Killer POVs so much, I just write what's on my mind.

**Did Quinn's spirit visit Santana in Day 11?**

That's open to interpretation. Do you want it to be her spirit?

**Is Quinn gay?**

Well, I honestly don't think that this matters, but I never thought that she was 100% straight in the show, so in this story, Quinn is bisexual, she just doesn't know it yet.

**Quinn had what you call a 'Cassandra complex'. Was this intentional?**

Yes, I put that in for two reasons. Firstly, it foreshadows what is going to happen throughout the story, as Quinn guesses what actually happened. Secondly, it adds a bit more depth to her character, adding to the point that she is a sweet girl who is scared for her life, so her slight paranoia at the beginning made sense.

**Which day/chapter was my favourite to write?**

Um… that's a hard one. I liked a lot of my chapters. I know that numbers don't mean much, so I'll describe what happens in the chapter.

My favourite one is probably the chapter where Quinn dies. It is where Santana reacts to Britt's 'death', Quinntana friendship and the heartbreaking Quinn murder.

Then it is the next chapter after that, the one where Mike escapes. Because it changes the dynamic of the story (as one person didn't get killed for once), you get what I think is a beautiful scene of Santana dragging Quinn through the back garden, and just Santana's inner turmoil in general.

Favourite scenes that I wrote:

The group blame at the table in Day 4, the day Rachel dies. That was really fun.

Quinn's murder (probably the inner sadist in me)

Unholy Trinity talk about dreams (Day 8), plus the Hurt/Comfort between Britt and Quinn a little after.

The scene where Brittany and Santana has a tickle fight and Santana makes Brittany wet herself, Day 5.

**Did Puck survive?**

As I touched earlier in "Who was the second killer?", no, Puck did not survive.

**How did Mr Schue handle the ordeal?**

He was a sad little bunny when he found out there were only two people left in the Glee club, Santana and Mike. That was obviously not enough for competition (Sugar didn't join because they never had that food fight thing, Rory didn't join because Brittany's dead so he never had an exchange, and I can't remember why Joe joined but even if he did there wouldn't be 12 people), plus Santana and Mike are in no condition to do show choir. This meant that Sue was easily able to take him down and Mr Schue resigned from the school because as you all know he is a horrible Spanish teacher (I don't know about history but he quit anyway).

Brittany's parents charged him for psychological torture with journey songs and his rapping which led to Brittany's murderous behaviour and a split personality, but they didn't succeed (unfortunately).

**Will there be a sequel?**

I mean of course there could be a sequel I'm just not interested in writing it. It will just be some classic fic you can find anywhere on the glee fandom about how Santana and Brittany's relationship grows throughout their time in school, with some cliché ending like them getting married at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this clears up some uncertainties in the story.


	16. Announcement

Nullified :/


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